


Like Rahab

by moonythejedi394



Series: the same story; told different ways [2]
Category: Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alpha Bucky Barnes, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Prostitution, Alternate Universe - Spies & Secret Agents, Angst with a Happy Ending, Assassination, BAMF Peggy Carter, Babies, Blood, Bottom Steve Rogers, Breastfeeding, Bucky Barnes Has Issues, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Bucky Barnes as Captain America, Canada, Catholic Steve Rogers, Christian Holidays, Cold War, Daddy Kink, Domestic Fluff, Domestic Sadness, Eventual Happy Ending, Family Issues, Fertility Issues, Forced Starvation, Graphic Description, Heavy Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Irish Steve Rogers, Jewish Bucky Barnes, Jewish Holidays, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Male Lactation, Miscarriage, Mpreg, Nazis in New York, Non-Consensual Oral Sex, Omega Steve Rogers, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Pre-World War II Bucky Barnes, Pre-World War II Bucky Barnes/Steve Rogers, Pregnancy Kink, Protective Bucky Barnes, Rape Recovery, Religious Content, Religious Guilt, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Reunions, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, Steve Rogers is Not Captain America, Steve Rogers is Not a Virgin, Top Bucky Barnes, World War II, i'm making a thing with that tag kids, meet ugly, not by bucky onto steve, related to abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-18
Updated: 2019-04-25
Packaged: 2019-08-03 19:32:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 29
Words: 131,789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16332110
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonythejedi394/pseuds/moonythejedi394
Summary: "Brother of Rahab, Father Elliot had called him. As Steve fell asleep, he dreamed of Nazis invading New York and an American spy with Bucky’s face hunting for a safe place to hide…" – intertwined, prelude.On December 7th, 1940, Japanese planes bombed Pearl Harbor. On May 8th, 1944, Nazi troops set foot in New York. On January 10th, 1945, Adolf Hitler was assassinated by a man now gone down in history as Captain America. Unfortunately, Captain America was killed after taking down Hitler, but his successful mission led to the Nazi invasion of the United States turning and the end of World War II. History recounts the legendary shot that took down Hitler, but it will always ponder why Captain America killed Dr. Johann Schmidt with the very next bullet.But before that, long before that, there was first an American sniper who needed a safe place to hide. There was first a prostitute turned spy who would take him in. There was first a strained relationship and a bittersweet reunion to be had, and when it was all over, there was then an escape to take place. After all, who would look for an American hero in Canada?





	1. preface

**Author's Note:**

> _please heed the warnings. this fic contains mpreg, miscarriage, dark themes, non-con/rape content, heavy angst, and religious themes. warnings will be explained in detail as they appear in the fic, particularly the rape scene._

* * *

  


**[january 10th, 1933]**

 

_“I think – I have to go. I think you’re going into heat…”_

_“Don’t be dumb, Bucky. I’m Beta, aren’t I?”_

_“Obviously not, I can smell it on you. It smells… Oh, god, it smells…”_

 

_…_

 

_“Bucky, you’re too far.”_

_“I’m right here, sweetheart.”_

_“You smell good…”_

 

_…_

 

_“Bucky! Let me out! Please!”_

_“I can’t! I’m sorry, sweetheart –”_

_“You don’t care! You coward!”_

_“I didn’t want to hurt you!”_

_“It hurts now! Bucky, I need you…”_

_“I’m sorry, baby, I’m sorry!”_

 

_…_

 

**[january 13th, 1933]**

 

_“This isn’t going to be easy. And I wish it wasn’t this way.”_

_“Ma? What’s going on?”_

_“The Barneses are moving away.”_

 

_…_

 

_“James, it wasn’t your fault, he was in heat, neither of you knew what you were doing –”_

_“Wasn’t my fault? Wasn’t my fault?! Of course, it was my fucking fault –! Is he okay? Did I hurt him?”_

_“He’ll live…”_

_“I – It wasn’t – It was, wasn’t it?”_

_“Yes, it was rape.”_

_“Fuck…”_

 

_…_

 

**[january 24th, 1933]**

 

_“Good morning, welcome to St. Maria’s Finishing School. Tell the class your name.”_

_“Steve Rogers.”_

_“Thank you, Steven. Please have a seat in the front.”_

 

_…_

 

_“Welcome to our school, champ, sure you’ll like it here. What’s your name, son?”_

_“B–… Jim.”_

_“Good to meet you, Jim. You can sit up here, between Jimmy Daucett and Jimmy Page.”_

 

_…_

 

**[january 10th, 1943]**

 

_“What about you, Sarge? Got an Omega waiting for you at home?”_

_“Had one.”_

_“What was her name?”_

_“Steven.”_

_“Oh… You… Oh. You, uh – You gonna find him when this is over?”_

_“He’s better off without me.”_

 

_…_

 

_“I am not doing good, Father.”_

_“I know, child. I cannot assuage your doubts or your fears. As a shepherd, I must advise my flock where I can, but I cannot win all their battles for them.”_

_“You’re telling me I have to stop.”_

_“No.”_

_“What?”_

_“From the book of Joshua, chapter two. Listen, my child, to the word of the Lord…”_

 

_…_

 

**[january 11th, 1945]**

 

_“The world rejoices as the news of Hitler’s assassination yesterday spreads! Allied forces in the United States launched a surprise re-invasion of New York the same morning, not even an hour after Hitler’s death, the fight was quick as the Nazis retreated to their ships! Nazi forces are expected to be gone completely from the States by the month’s end! The world celebrates, but we also mourn the sacrifice made by Hitler’s killer, Captain Barnes is the martyr of the century! Rejoice! Rejoice! The war is nearly over!”_


	2. Part One, One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _And Joshua the son of Nun sent out of Shittim two men to spy secretly, saying, Go view the land, even Jericho. And they went, and came into an harlot's house, named Rahab, and lodged there._   
>  __  
>  **Joshua 2:1, this is the word of the Lord for the People of the Lord.**   
>    
>  _Response: Thanks be to God._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _uh hi? so? this is a thing? i've been sitting on this story for literally almost a year i started writing it last december and so far just haven't posted it. there are at least 20 chapters, i'm guesstimating around 35, bc i've gotten up to 20 chapters and i'm approximately 2/3 of the way through the plot. but i thought, fuck it, imma let y'all have it now and maybe that'll get the last third of the story finished. chapters will be posted weekly, and like i said, i have 20 chapters already written, so we got time. imma give you the chapter following this as well just to be kind/mean depending on your reaction to it. please comment! tell me what you think! ily pls enjoy._   
>  _story covers can be found on my tumblr[here](https://moonythejedi394.tumblr.com/post/179166562372/on-december-7th-1940-japanese-planes-bombed), and if you'd like some music to listen to as you read, the playlist for same story; told different ways is [here](https://open.spotify.com/user/moonythejedi4/playlist/6w4nNOC9v0bBrWFfYRBuxZ?si=GNFH0oTgRLy8VBVtIiGK2A). the theme song for part one is Harry Styles's Sign of the Times and [Lorde's Still Sane](https://open.spotify.com/track/40I4QHN3ysd78bmNSft6Zd?si=DU6Ymrc-QSicA--42KEZFw)._   
>  _thanks to lexi for being on my ass as usual we love her. this is one of her favorites of mine apparently part 2 is close to her heart bc of [spoilers]. also, lexi's birthday was on sunday so! go wish her a belated happy birthday on_   
>  _[her tumblr](thicchaco.tumblr.com). happy birthday lexi!_

****

 

**[november(?), 1944]**

 

New York was drastically changed, and somehow still the same. The billboards in Times Square had been covered in Nazi flags, but the cabbies still screamed at jaywalkers who still flipped them off. It was New York. It was occupied by German forces, but it would always be New York.

 

Bucky, on the other hand, hadn't set foot in New York for more than four years, and he probably would never be the guy who stepped onto the boat to England in 1942 ever again.

 

He wore ragged and mismatched clothes, lifted from various dead bodies, walked with a limp, and his name was Jim, not Bucky. He'd been lucky to get as far as he did, lucky to only have the one bullet in his thigh and have it there instead of buried in his heart or lungs or brains, but luck only took him so far.

 

“Stop glaring at the ground,” Agent Carter hissed in his ear. “Smile at me for once.”

 

So Bucky threw his head back and laughed before squeezing the arm that was already around Agent Carter’s shoulders and kissing her temple. “You're a peach, sweetheart.”

 

The words tasted like ash in his mouth.

 

“Hmm,” Agent Carter said, a dazzlingly false smile curling her pale lips. He was sure, once, she'd never have left the house without lipstick and mascara, but there wasn't time for that when rescuing snipers from mad Nazi scientists. “There's no need to flirt with a sure thing, Jim.”

 

“Oh, sure, but why don’t I go and do it anyway?” he said. “Never hurts to keep my gal interested.”

 

Agent Carter laughed as well, again, a dazzlingly false sound, and patted his shoulder. She was curled into his side, playing pretend to keep the German troops watching the streets from looking too closely; he could feel the tension in her shoulders, though, that betrayed how much she’d rather not be. To be fair, he was an Alpha she had only just met that morning when she’d broken into the base where he had been held hostage and she’d nearly died in the process. When he wasn’t still shaking like a leaf and didn’t have Doctor Zola’s simpering tones echoing in the back of his head, Bucky would take the time to fume that the Army had sent only one Omega by herself into a base of a hundred Nazis just to get one sniper on the off chance that he could take out Hitler through a window of a moving car.

 

At least he had a month to get his hands steady again.

 

“Turn here,” Agent Carter murmured to him a minute later. He turned left into an alley, and she tugged him into a bed and breakfast that looked abandoned a second later. The moment the door was closed, Bucky let out a long groan and collapsed onto the floor, clutching at the bullet wound in his thigh. Agent Carter darted around and yanked a first aid kit from a cupboard, dropping down next to him and pulling out medical supplies.

 

“Oh, fuck, thank God you’re alive,” a man’s voice sounded. “Did you get him? This is Barnes?”

 

“Yep,” Bucky answered, as Agent Carter was opening a bottle of iodine with her teeth. “Got him.”

 

The man who’d spoken knelt down in front of him, looking at his leg. “Yikes,” he said. “That looks painful.”

 

“It feels painful,” Bucky grumbled. Agent Carter took a knife to his pants leg, ripping open the fabric to get to the gash under it; he let out another hiss of pain when her fingers jostled his leg.

 

“You’re lucky it missed the femoral artery,” Agent Carter said, “and that it didn’t reach the bone.”

 

“Yep,” he repeated through gritted teeth, “super lucky.”

 

“I’m Howard Stark,” the man said, distracting Bucky from the pain in his leg. “Good to meet you, Captain Barnes. I’d shake your hand, but mine aren’t very clean at the moment.”

 

He waved both hands. They were covered in oil and grease.

 

“Mechanic?” Bucky guessed through gritted teeth.

 

“Engineer,” Howard Stark corrected.

 

“Close enough,” Bucky muttered, then slammed the back of his head against the wall with a half-choked yell as Agent Carter inserted tweezers into the hole in his leg to pull out the bullet. “Fuck!” he gasped. “Fuck, fuck, fuck –”

 

“I’ve nearly got it,” Agent Carter reassured him.

 

“– fuck, fuck, fuck –”

 

“Y’know, when they said you were the best shot in the whole Army, we probably should have anticipated you’d have a mouth like a sewer,” Howard Stark said dryly.

 

“I have a _bullet_ in my _leg_ and _tweezers_ pulling it out,” Bucky snapped. “Fuck you.”

 

Howard Stark said nothing to that, only looked down at Agent Carter working the bullet out of Bucky’s thigh. She tossed it unceremoniously aside – it hit the floorboards with a clatter and rolled under a chair, leaving flecks of blood in its path –, swabbed him down with whiskey and then the iodine, and taped gauze over the hole when she was done. Howard Stark and Agent Carter hauled him to his feet, then helped him stumble towards a chair.

 

“Rest while you can,” Agent Carter instructed. “We’re taking you to a safe house soon.”

 

“Well, technically, you’re taking yourself to a safe house,” Howard Stark said. “How do you feel about hookers, Jim? Can I call you Jim?”

 

“No opinion of ‘em,” Bucky grunted, ignoring Howard Stark’s question; the man could call him whatever he wanted, for all he cared. “Unless you ask my ma, in which case, I pity ‘em.”

 

“Excellent,” Howard Stark concluded. “Because you’ll be staying with one for the foreseeable future.”

 

“Grand,” Bucky said, half a huff and half an exhale.

 

“Until we get word on Hitler’s movements, at least,” Agent Carter assured him. “Which won’t be for a while. You’ll be able to heal, and after a few weeks, we might be able to move you to one of our outposts. Doubt it, though.”

 

“Hope you’re paying this lady well if I’m gonna be her lone client for days on end,” Bucky said, testing the lift of his knee and wincing at the pain.

 

“Man,” Howard Stark corrected. “And we’re not paying him, he’s doing it out of the goodness of his heart.”

 

Bucky squinted up at Howard, more than a little confused. “I’m staying with an Alpha prostitute?”

 

“Male Omega,” Agent Carter clarified. Bucky’s heart kicked in his chest. “His name is Roger Smith, or at least that’s what he’s told us it is, I imagine it’s probably a false name. His pimp is a Nazi official, fortunately for us, one who’s willing to part with rather sensitive information on occasion.”

 

“That occasion being during pillow-talk,” Howard added.

 

“I’m staying with a male Omega hooker who’s also a Nazi mole?” Bucky asked. That sounded really far-fetched, even to him half-high on pain, and not even the idea of a male Omega was the most ludicrous of the lot. He knew male Omegas existed. There had to be at least two in New York.

 

He knew there was at least one. And if Carter was serious, he hoped there were two.

 

“He’s been supplying us with information for the past six months,” Agent Carter said, and, shit, she was serious. “He came to me voluntarily after his pimp started giving out German secrets.”

 

“Shit, you’re serious,” was what he said.

 

It didn’t escape him, of course, that it sounded exactly like something Steve would do, get himself involved with the Resistance through prostitution, but he ignored the idea. There had to be more than one male Omega in New York, and he would bet that Steve wouldn’t get into sex work even if it was to fight back against the Nazis, considering all Bucky had done to him when they were kids.

 

“I’m serious,” Agent Carter insisted. “He was previously a freelance man, but got swept up into working for the Nazis just after they invaded New York, says he wants to make them regret picking him up.”

 

Steve definitely wouldn’t have become a solo working guy on his own.

 

“Splendid,” Bucky said, avoiding Agent Carter’s piercing gaze. “When do I darken his door, again?”

 

“Two hours almost,” Agent Carter said, checking her watch. “Howard and I will go first, then you’ll follow. Our cover is that I am a client of his, I’ll go through the front, but we’ll bring in Howard through a window. You’ll follow in and go directly to his door, pretending that you’re my Alpha and you’re here to fetch me, play up the anger all you like, then Howard and you will swap, he’ll drag me home yelling about infidelity, and you’ll be safe and sound in Roger’s home.”

 

“Isn’t it a bit much, to hide me directly under the nose of a Nazi pimp?” Bucky asked.

 

“The guy has plenty of clients,” Howard said with a shrug. “It’s hiding in plain sight.”

 

“Right, but the pimp? How often does that guy come by?”

 

“Once a month,” Agent Carter answered, “and he visited this morning, so you’ve got time before he returns.”

 

“Do people watch him?”

 

“The landlord’s on their payroll,” she said, “other than that, no.”

 

Bucky exhaled, straightened his leg with a grimace, and nodded. “Alright. Sound plan. One more question.”

 

“Shoot,” Howard said.

 

Bucky hesitated, then turned his head to give the man a look. Agent Carter looked at him as well, one eyebrow raised.

 

“That was tactless, wasn’t it?” Howard said.

 

“A bit,” she mused.

 

“How are we playing this guy as me?” Bucky asked, completely ignoring the rest.

 

Howard Stark was of a similar height and shape, they had similar haircuts and colors, but other than that, they looked nothing alike. Howard was well groomed, where Bucky had at least four weeks of stubble that resembled a beard lining his neck and jaw, hadn’t showered in all that time either, and was obviously more muscular and emaciated at the same time.

 

“Both of you shave and then wear a hat,” Agent Carter explained. “You’ll swap coats at Roger’s flat as well.”

 

Howard touched his thin mustache. “This thing is a bit out of style,” he said with a sigh.

 

With that, Bucky let out a sigh and nodded once again. “Get me a shower and a razor, then. Unless you want me to smell like I’m the hooker.”

 

“Through there,” Agent Carter said with a gesture, “I’ll rebandage your leg if it needs it, but be quick.”

 

Bucky nodded, hauling himself up out of the chair. Agent Carter made a movement, perhaps to steady him, but he waved her off and limped to the bathroom on his own.

 

“I’ll have to replicate that limp, won’t I?” he heard Howard ask before he shut the door behind him.

 

 _Be quick_ , Agent Carter had instructed. That meant he didn’t have the time to curl into a ball of fear and anguish under the hot water, but at least the water was hot in the first place, after he stripped down and climbed into the shower that smelled heavily of mildew. There was soap, at least, and no men with guns or hypodermic needles or lights flashing off Zola’s glasses that meant he was in for something _really_ fucked up this time or –

 

He steered his thoughts away from that. He didn’t have time to curl into a ball of fear and anguish just then. Perhaps Roger Smith would be kind enough to let him hide in the bathroom in his apartment to then curl into a ball of fear and anguish. He doubted it, though.

 

It took a while, but eventually, the soap washed away the scent of everything and all he could smell was mildew. It was freezing when he crawled back out, and he dried off as quick as he could, before re-dressing in the same old clothes. He didn’t want to go back out wearing just the towel, but he hoped Agent Carter had fresher clothes for him. He shaved, carefully, and managed not to nick himself more than twice with his shaking hands. When he emerged from the bathroom, he felt only a little bit better for being clean and clean-shaven.

 

“Oh, here,” Agent Carter said the second he stepped out, “clean clothes.”

 

She shoved the bundle of clothes into his arms and him back towards the bathroom. “Be quick, we’re going to leave in a minute and I need to go over the directions with you.”

 

Bucky just stepped back into the bathroom and changed, before throwing the clothes lifted from dead Nazis into the waste bin by the toilet. Outside again, Agent Carter was unrolling a map.

 

“We’re here,” she said, pressing a fingernail to a corner street on the map, “he’s here. This is the route you need to take.”

 

Five minutes later, she and Howard left. They would approach the building Roger lived in from different angles, Agent Carter would go in the front door and Howard would climb the fire escape. Bucky had a hat that he would need to pull low over his brow, a heavy overcoat that would disguise where his and Howard’s figures differed, and a third separate route that he would start on in exactly twenty-nine minutes.

 

He glanced at his watch. Twenty-eight.

 

Now that he was alone, Bucky had nothing else to keep his head quiet. He stared at the map, all that was left of Agent Carter’s plans, and thought about who the hell had the bright idea to have him assassinate Adolf Hitler on the words of a prostitute.


	3. Two

**_[_ ** **New Addition to the Louvre** **_, January 10th, 2045]_ **

 

_ “...Museum Director Vincent Durand welcomed visitors to the Louvre this morning to see the newest artwork added to the halls of the Louvre, the first in over twenty years. The artwork in question,  _ Young Love _ , is a simple portrait of two teenagers lying face-to-face on a sofa. It has hung in a private gallery of the artist’s collected works since 2014, a gallery that has gathered fame and infamy both in the past forty years, thanks to the series of seven paintings depicting the artist’s life and role in World War II. Most well-known of these, ahead of even the portrait of the World War II hero himself, is  _ Captain America’s Second Shot _ … _

_ “...Discovered only after his death and his children’s decision to display his work, Steven Grant Barnes is one of the most influential artists of the 20th century, perhaps even the 21st, and to have one of his pieces showcased in the Louvre is only icing on the cake…” _

 

*

**[november 27th, 1944]**

 

After shutting his door on Schmidt’s back, Steve ran directly to his bathroom to grab his toothbrush and scrub at his mouth with baking soda, to get the taste of semen out of his mouth. He wished his gag reflex wasn’t so shit these days so he could force himself to throw up and get it out of his stomach, but those sort of things happened when one regularly got their mouths fucked by a variety of dicks, in both meanings of the word. 

 

He spat violently into the sink, shuddering again. He fucking _ hated _ Nazis, fucking  _ hated _ Hitler for invading, and fucking  _ hated _ fucking Johann Schmidt for getting himself the  _ owner  _ of every single prostitute in Brooklyn.

 

Agent Carter would be bringing her sniper to him soon, though. At least he could stab Schmidt in the back with what he could tell and do for Agent Carter. 

 

He had met her in a bar, thick with cigarette smoke and the half-heady, half-caustic scent of home-brewed moonshine, all that was left of New York’s booze after Hitler came and demanded everything sold have his face on it or be dumped, poured, or thrown into the sewers. Unfortunately, his blanket trade and commerce laws had included prostitution, and thus, Steve had been swept up by Dr. Johann Schmidt, a man who didn’t even seem to want to be bothered with regulating hookers. At least, he hadn’t, until he’d seen Steve. 

 

It had gone downhill from there.

 

“What can I do for you, darling?” Agent Carter had asked him when he’d walked up to her. For a second, he’d wondered if he’d accidentally walked up to another hooker. But she matched the description he’d gotten in hushed whispers from Rosa, who had once had an Allied Forces scientist coming to her regularly, down to the matte red lipstick and the picture perfect pin-up curls.

 

“I think I can do something for you,” he had said; his body language said  _ fuck me _ to keep eyes from looking too close and his tone said  _ listen please _ , and Agent Carter’s drunk demeanor had slipped just a little then. “You’re friends with Howard Stark, right?”

 

“I’m not sure I’d call us friends,” Agent Carter had mused then, soft and contemplating, but still slurring her words appropriately, in case he was a Nazi rather than an Allied Forces spy-wannabe. “Met him once or twice. Heard he’s on the run, now.”

 

“I know,” he had added, then, had leaned in closer, put his hand on her arm, like he was propositioning her, but said in an even more hushed tone, “I can help.”

 

“Help what, darling?” Agent Carter had asked him.

 

“I know who you are,” Steve had whispered; he had dropped his tone abruptly, kept his body language open and inviting, but lowered his voice so only Carter could hear him. “I know things.”

 

Agent Carter had raised an eyebrow, but when he hadn’t faltered, she’d frowned at him and flicked her gaze around the room. “What sort of things?”

 

“Dr. Schmidt got saddled with prostitutes after he couldn’t create super soldier serum,” Steve had said. “I’m his favorite.”

 

Agent Carter, for a moment, had been silent. Obviously, she knew of Johann Schmidt. Any self-respecting Allied spy had heard of the mad Nazi scientist. Then, she leaned in closer to him, her red lips curled in a smirk like she was taking him up on his offer, and asked: “What’s your name, dear?”

 

“Roger Smith,” he had lied easily. He’d lived under the name Roger Smith for five years nearly; some days, he felt more like Roger Smith than Steve Rogers.

 

“And what does Dr. Schmidt say to his favorite boy?”

 

“Lots of things,” Steve had told her, like it didn’t bother him. It had been easier to hold the facade of Roger Smith firm, it would have done him no good then to betray how much Steve Rogers was afraid of Schmidt. “Won’t shut up, to be honest.”

 

Agent Carter had narrowed her eyes at him, still smirking, then leaned back and curled a finger. He had taken her proffered arm, lead her from the bar across the street to his building and up the stairs to his two-bedroom apartment. Schmidt paid the rent, and Schmidt would house whatever plots the Allies wanted to conduct within his four walls that reeked of too many different men to pick out which were Nazis and which were dangerous to the Third Reich.

 

“It’s safe to talk here,” he had said as soon as the door was shut. What reason would the Nazis have to bug a prostitute’s apartment?

 

“Good.” Agent Carter had touched at her lipstick in the mirror by the entrance, then stepped away and dropped into the nearby armchair.

 

“Uh,” he had started, suddenly awkward, but this was his one rule, that chair was essentially sacred to him now, it and the jacket were all he had left, “I’d prefer if you sat on the sofa.”

 

Agent Carter had simply gotten up and moved. Steve hadn’t sat in that armchair either, but Agent Carter didn’t need an explanation about his furniture.

 

“What’s your price?” Agent Carter had asked then.

 

“Protection,” he had answered. “When this is over, I want to have someplace safe to live. I’d like to stay in Brooklyn, but if someplace else would be safer, fine. I never wanna see this place again, that’s for sure. And I don’t want to work anymore.”

 

He wanted to leave Roger Smith in that shitty, Nazi-funded apartment building turned brothel and never look back.

 

“Money and living, fair enough,” Agent Carter had mused. “What makes you think that this will end in our favor, though? The Allies have given up on us, what little resistance there is is squashed daily. The US Army is in shambles, pretty much all that’s left is the SSR, and our only hope has failed.”

 

She had meant Dr. Erskine, who, like Schmidt, had tried to create a super soldier. He had tried and failed. The boy they’d used as a test subject barely came out different, only a few chronic issues cured, not nearly the super soldier they’d been looking for. The project had been scrapped after that.

 

“Because of what I know,” he had told her. “I know where the Nazi labs have set up, where their barracks are and the weapons they’re developing.”

 

Agent Carter had sat up straighter at that, and Steve kept his courage.

 

“I know where Hitler is,” he had finished. “And I’ll know when he’s coming to America and where he’ll come.”

 

That was what had put him squarely in the service of the US Army as a spy. That was what had him there, leaning over a sink that drained slowly and wanting to just stick his face in the water and get it over with, but straightening up regardless to inhale a shaky breath. He knew Hitler’s movements, knew it because Schmidt hated the man after his demotion, knew because Schmidt was fucked in the head and thought that Steve’s weaknesses made him the perfect pet, and Schmidt liked to vent to his pets. With his words and his fists. Hitler was in Europe at that moment, but from what Schmidt had said just that morning, he was boarding a boat to the US that night.

 

The boat would take a month. It was nearing the end of November. The boat would take a month, then Hitler would board a train to the front lines of where the remains of the US Army were fighting to keep the Nazi forces from marching on Chicago. But between the boat and the train, there would be open air, a clear line of sight, and by God, Agent Carter’s sniper would cut the Führer down. 

 

Steve just had to keep his head up long enough to get a date out of Dr. Schmidt.

 

Finally, Steve left the bathroom in search of clothes, as he was naked. Schmidt always made him undress the second he arrived. His knees were already purpling from kneeling on the hardwood flooring for nearly three hours straight and the rest of his body spotted with dark bruises from Schmidt’s closed and open fists. He needed clothes and he needed some tea, and lots of it. Fortunately for him, Schmidt kept his favorite pets well supplied, and he had plenty of shitty and flavorless Nazi tea to soothe his raw throat. He didn’t own underclothes, Schmidt had taken all of them, but donned a soft pair of linen pants, a shirt, wool socks, and then the jacket. 

 

It still hung loosely on his bony frame, his body had not grown much since he was fourteen. Bucky had left it in his house, the last day Steve had ever seen him, twelve, nearly thirteen years ago. He kept it hidden under his bed, so it was a bit dusty, but the comfort was still there even though the scent had long since faded. Even though any hope in what it once represented had faded. It had been over ten years since Steve had seen him last, and the last time he had seen him, Bucky was locking him in the bathroom and throwing out the key. 

 

Since then, his life had taken several unexpected turns, and even though he clung to the memory the jacket represented, Steve knew better than to ever hope Bucky would return for him.

 

In the kitchen, Steve looked at the cupboards, where most were empty and two were stocked with soups and beans and a few cans of sweet corn. Sweet corn was plentiful in the United States that year; the man Hitler had put in charge of the invasion, General Jodi, had a fondness for it. Steve looked at the cupboard, and his stomach ached. He placed a flat hand over it, feeling where his hips stuck out, like the jagged rocks at the bottom of an ocean-side cliff, and grimaced at the cupboard. His stomach ached so much Steve barely felt it, the ache transcended from his gut to his joints, and  _ oh _ , that was bad. It had been three days since he last ate, only half a cup of beans and one piece of bread, his bones stuck out like jagged rocks and Schmidt still had clucked his tongue, pinched what little skin he had left and said _ Too fat. Eat less. _

 

He had then backhanded Steve so hard he hit the floor and pressed his boot into what little skin Steve still had left on his chest and laughed and laughed and laughed. Steve hadn’t cried. It hurt like hell, Schmidt’s boot pressing in on him until he couldn’t breathe and his ribs creaked like an old building, the sound of him laughing endlessly while Steve’s lips turned purple so that he’d been convinced it was going to be the last thing he’d ever hear, but Steve never cried.

 

The hunger hurt in his knuckles and in his shoulders and in his knees and in his crooked spine. He still didn’t cry.

 

The cupboards stayed closed. Steve made shitty and tasteless Nazi tea. It was shitty and tasteless. From the tin, Hitler glared at him,  _ für Führer und Vaterland: Tee _ proclaimed in bold text under and over the face of the fucking Führer himself.

 

“Fuck you,” he declared to the tea tin.

 

The tea tin said nothing back. Once, Steve had declared  _ I hope you get torn apart by wolves _ to the tea tin, and it had responded with  _ You first _ , and he’d run for his mother’s rosary and Bible before realizing that it was just the fact that he had been suffering from fever and hadn’t eaten in a week. Steve turned away from it, stomped to his living room, and flopped onto his sofa to glare at the chair.

 

Schmidt always sat in it, ever since Steve had asked and then begged, since that was the only thing that seemed to work on the monster and he’d already given up on pride, that he not use the chair. He had said that it was his father’s chair and anyone using it would disturb his father’s rest. It had been his father’s chair once, but that wasn’t why it was precious to Steve. Of course, Schmidt had promptly folded his lanky and unnerving body into the chair and told him to get on the floor where he belonged. 

 

Steve had once wanted to preserve the memory of laughter, of squeezing in to fit in the same chair even though they were much too old to be sitting so close to each other. When they were young, Bucky had taken the chair, taken up the gap left by Steve’s father, and it had remained his chair even after he’d left. He had once wanted to keep precious the only threads of what he had left. The jacket, so far, he’d kept hidden and safe, but the chair…

 

He wanted to burn it. Schmidt wouldn’t let him.

 

He had just finished his shitty and tasteless Nazi tea when the knock came at the door; it was a rhythmic pattern, counting out the first notes of Tchaikovsky’s 1812 Overture, that signaled a friend at the door. Steve set the mug on the floor to go to the peephole. 

 

Agent Carter’s head, bowed and hair wrapped in a scarf, filled the glass. Steve undid the locks, all seven of them, and let her in.

 

“Howard’s at the fire escape,” she said as soon as the door closed, but Steve already knew that, Howard was always waiting at the fire escape. “Jim will be arriving in half an hour.”

 

Steve gave a nod, a jerky and nervous one, as Agent Carter moved to the second bedroom and the fire escape. He knew very little about the sniper he’d be harboring for the Resistance, only his given name and that he was the best sniper in the whole of the Allied Forces. Agent Carter knew little more than that either, she’d once told him the sniper’s rank but he’d forgotten if it was Sergeant or Captain already. It wasn’t like he knew much of a difference; it wasn’t like it would make much of a difference, either. When this whole ordeal was through, Captain or Sergeant or neither, Agent Carter’s sniper would be a hero. 

 

Howard waved to Steve cheerfully when Agent Carter pulled open the blinds. He’d shaved off his mustache, and he looked about ten years younger without it. Steve helped her yank open the window, then helped Howard hop down and into the room.

 

“Good to see you, Roger,” Howard said, “you’ll like Jim, by the way, handsome fella, very sarcastic as far as I can tell, just your sort of guy.”

 

“I don’t have a sort of guy,” Steve said in answer to that.   
  


Howard clapped him on the back and laughed. “Exactly!” he said and walked out. Steve met Agent Carter’s eyes and she raised her eyebrows.

 

In the living room, Howard had flopped onto the couch. He knew the rule about the chair already, but had he not known, Steve wouldn’t have stopped him from sitting in the chair by the door, not anymore. The chair looked innocent and clean, thanks to Schmidt insisting on always coming down Steve’s throat, but to Steve, it was sinister. Insidious. Ruined. 

 

“I have tea,” he said, as he always did.

 

“You sound like you ought to be drinking it,” Howard answered, as he always did.

 

“‘M drinking it,” Steve grumbled to himself, swiping his mug off the floor by Howard’s feet and heading for the kitchen.

 

“We’ll do a quick debrief while we wait for Jim,” Agent Carter told him, the kitchen separated from the living room only by a change in the flooring, while he made more tea. “And I might need to show you how to redress wounds when he gets here.”

 

“Why?” he asked, rasping. Fuck, his voice was raw.

 

“He was shot this morning,” Agent Carter said casually, “while I was freeing him from a Nazi prison.”

 

Steve’s fingers slipped on the mug and he fumbled to catch it, barely succeeding. “He was in prison?” he asked, looking up. “Why?”

 

“Because he was an Allied soldier, that’s all,” Agent Carter told him calmly, raising her eyebrows as if she really knew why he was asking. “He was being experimented on by Schmidt’s replacement as head of Hydra.”

 

“Oh,” Steve said. He set the mug on the counter. “Oh.”

 

Agent Carter said nothing further, and Steve made himself his tea. When he pulled one of the kitchen chairs into the living room, Agent Carter took a seat on the sofa next to Howard, and they waited.

 

“Hitler’s boat leaves tonight,” he said without ceremony. “It will take a month, at least. Maybe a week or two more. When he gets here, he’s taking the train, like we thought, out to the front.”

 

“Do you know what time the train leaves?” Agent Carter asked.

 

“The second he steps off the boat,” he said and took a sip of his shitty and tasteless tea. “And the train’s going to be made bulletproof. The only chance you’ll have is between him getting off the boat and him getting on.”

 

“Fortunately, Jim’s the best shot we’ve got,” Howard mused.

 

“He’s taking a car from the harbor to the train station. I don’t know if it’ll be bulletproofed, too.”

 

“Do you know which harbor? Which station?”

 

He nodded. “Grand Central Station, what used to be the C-line to Indianapolis, Navy Yard, main docks. He’s coming on a ship disguised as a cargo hauler, it’s called  _ Constance. _ ”

 

“Good,” Agent Carter sighed. “And the Resistance?”

 

“They think that base they bombed last week was the real thing,” he said. “Schmidt was real pleased.”

 

He couldn’t repress the shiver at remembering Schmidt’s good mood. He got more violent in his good moods, somehow.

 

“That’s excellent,” Howard said, while Agent Carter fixed him with a look. “You’re a godsend, Roger.”

 

Steve worried his lower lip between his teeth, looking into his tea. 

 

“Was there something else?” Agent Carter prompted.

 

“Not from Schmidt,” he said quickly.

 

“From you?” she asked him carefully.

 

“Well,” he started, then shifted in his chair. “I trust you guys.”

 

If all went well, if Agent Carter’s sniper was as good as she said he was and Schmidt’s stupid rambling mouth was telling the truth, in a month’s time, he would leave Roger Smith behind in this Nazi-funded brothel. He didn’t want to  _ live  _ as Roger Smith so close to escaping.

 

“That’s good to know,” Howard said dryly.

 

“No, really,” he insisted. “So, you should know, my name isn’t actually Roger Smith.”

 

Agent Carter raised an eyebrow. Howard raised both.

 

“We figured it was a false name,” he said.

 

“My surname is Rogers,” Steve went on. “Smith is just a common name I picked ‘cause I thought it wouldn’t get noticed.”

 

“It was a good fake name,” Howard assured him.

 

“Steve. Steven Rogers,” he said before he could change his mind. “That’s my real name.”

 

Howard only nodded. Agent Carter gave him a very careful smile.

 

“Thank you for telling us,” she said.

 

He nodded as well.

 

“Well, you already call me by my given name,” Howard said. “But her name’s Margaret.”

 

Steve opened his mouth at the same time as Agent Carter laughed. “You can call me Peggy,” she said before he could speak. “Steven,” she added, still smiling lightly at him.

 

He nodded again and clammed up. He took a long gulp of his shitty, tasteless tea, and stared at the contrast of his wooly socks on the scratched hardwood.

 

They sat in silence until there was another knock at the door. A sharp pounding, really. Steve gave a short jump in his seat before remembering that that was the cover, that the sniper was an angry husband and Agent Carter – Peggy – was a client. He set his tea on the floor, managing to fight back the flinch when the pounding sounded at the door again, while Peggy checked the peephole. She gave a nod, and Steve started undoing the locks. The fist banged against his door again, and Steve jumped again.

 

“Hang on!” he snapped through the door, fingers shaking somewhat while he undid the bolts and chains. He yanked open the door and a heavy man forced his way in. 

 

It took Steve a second to shut the door. He was staring at it, frozen in shock. The man smelled like soap and blood, but also like woodsmoke. Not just any smoke, but cedar and applewood, like the barbeque Bobby Green made on Independence Day. Under the smoke, he could smell the herbs Mrs. Barnes used to grow in the kitchen windowsill before her family moved away, the mix of Romani on her husband’s side and Hebrew on her own picking an eclectic bunch that somehow still smelled pleasing together. He’d know that scent anywhere. He’d know it half-dead, he’d know it with one foot in the grave and the other hovering over it, he’d know it unconscious or drunk or choking. It once, long ago, soothed him to sleep while it faded just as quickly from the very jacket he was wearing. It now rocked him with horror.

 

Steve turned, slowly, thinking that, no, it couldn’t be possible, he’d grown out of that old panic that Bucky was behind every client’s shadow long ago, thinking, no, this couldn’t be him, no, this would be too much of a coincidence for the universe to pull on him, God wasn’t  _ that _ cruel.

 

The man was standing with his back to him, hat in hand and looking at the chair. Howard was talking, and Peggy was watching Steve watch the man.

 

The hair was just the right color, the right faint wave from damp and sweat. But the man would turn around and he’d have green eyes or brown. He’d have the wrong tint of brown or olive to his skin, too much or too little of one or both. The nose would be broad or crooked or the mouth would be too thin or the ears stick out too much. It couldn't be him.

 

“Steven?” Peggy said to him. “Are you alright?”

 

And the man stiffened, fist curled on the back of the armchair. Steve realized his hands were pressed to his mouth and lowered them slowly. The man turned, but slowly, too slowly; Steve caught the edge of his jawline and the curve of his ear and sucked in a breath.

 

“You said his name was Jim,” he croaked.

 

Bucky turned around. His eyes, the correct shade, were wide. His mouth, the right shape, was open. His skin, just the right blend of coffee with cream and caramel, was bloodless.

 

Steve bolted. Like a coward, he ran from the front door to his bedroom, slamming the door behind him. He sank down to the floor in front of it, his hands pressed to his mouth to keep the ragged breaths tumbling from his lips from turning into sobs or screams, until he could right himself, and go back out to scream properly at Bucky himself. The first time he’d seen him in nearly thirteen years since Bucky had rejected him, had turned his back on him, and it was under the facade of Roger Smith, blatantly outlining every way he had betrayed Bucky since they’d parted as children. How was God really this cruel?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _tell me what you think so far! you can stalk me on tumblr[here](https://moonythejedi394.tumblr.com/) or support me on ko-fi [over here](https://ko-fi.com/A6471DU1). if you'd like to see what inspired this particular part of the SS;TDW 'verse, you can check out intertwined and then edges blurred, which is still ongoing. peace out, pls review_


	4. Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _hello it is me my name is henrick i was the one who sent 36 wild dogs into your apartment_

**_[_ ** **Only the Good Die Young: 10 Heroes Who Died Before They Could Be Properly Appreciated** **_, posted on BuzzFeed August 17th, 2013]_ **

 

_“7. Captain America –_

_If you live anywhere that requires a basic knowledge of World War II to graduate high school (or secondary school for you European readers), you know who Captain America is and what he did. But, in case you failed history, here’s a recap: Captain J. B. Barnes famously assassinated Adolf Hitler on January 10th, 1946 on the words of a prostitute known only as Roger Smith. Remember now? Good, Captain America was America’s sweetheart for a good twenty years past his death, and for good reason!_

_Captain America, who was dubbed that by the press later in 1946, was killed fleeing the scene of the assassination, so he didn’t even get to see the end of the war. Then-President Roosevelt spoke at his funeral, participated in his flag folding, and personally handed Captain America’s flag to a sobbing Mrs. Barnes. His mother, not his wife, unfortunately. Or fortunately. Imagine_ being _Mrs. Captain America. You’d never be able to move on from that, would you?”_

 

*

**[november (probably), 1944]**

 

Bucky shoved his way into the apartment the second the door opened, to keep the cover of an angry husband in case anyone was watching. But the second the door was shut, he swept off his hat and dropped a hand onto a nearby armchair to get his weight off his injured leg.

 

“Took you long enough,” Howard quipped, “I was starting to think you’d gotten lost.”

 

“Wanted to make sure no one was following me,” Bucky said. He moved to swing around the chair and drop into it, but Howard stopped him with a hand.

 

“Roger doesn’t like people sitting in that chair,” he said, causing Bucky to look down at the chair.

 

His blood ran cold.

 

“Well, actually, his name isn’t Roger –”

 

The armchair was a faded brown, with cracked leather and gnarled legs. It was a plain and unassuming piece of furniture, had it not been for the exact scratches and off-center impression to the seat that triggered Bucky’s memory.

 

“– but you should probably let him tell you his name, I’ve said too much as it is –”

 

_No…_

 

“Steven,” Agent Carter’s voice broke in.

 

_No._

 

“Are you alright?”

 

Bucky meant to turn around. There were thousands of people named Steven, thousands of people owned brown armchairs with cracked leather and scratches that could be assembled into an eight-year-old’s proud ability to write his own name, thousands of Omegas turned to prostitution in New York –

 

“You said his name was Jim,” a raspy voice said behind him. His voice had deepened in the past thirteen years.

 

Oh, but there weren’t thousands of male Omegas in the world, let alone New York. There weren’t thousands of that chair. And even if thirteen years had added scratchiness to his voice, Bucky would recognize it anywhere. He turned around, and locked eyes with a terrified Steve Rogers.

 

His throat felt dry. He tried to think of something to say, an apology probably, when Steve suddenly jerked away from the wall. Bucky almost stumbled back, but Steve ran out of the room without another word and slammed shut a door behind him. Bucky swallowed, the action making his sandpaper throat stick to itself. He hardly felt the pain from his bullet wound anymore.

 

_Fuck._

 

“Uh,” Howard said. “What just happened?”

 

“Carter,” Bucky said, swallowed again, and started over. “You have to find somewhere else to hide me.”

 

“What?” Agent Carter spluttered. “Whatever is the matter with you? We don’t have a safer place for you, I know it’s a bit unorthodox –”

 

“Hide me in a fucking shoebox, Carter, just put me somewhere that isn’t here!” Bucky cut her off.

 

“Jim," Carter said angrily, "you said you wouldn’t have an issue with Steven being a prostitute –”

 

“I can’t stay here!” Bucky hissed, jabbing a finger into her face and causing her to take a stumbling step back. “Did you see his face?" he demands. "I can’t do this to him, I can’t –”

 

“Whoa, calm down there, Jim,” Howard said, grabbing his arm and gently tugging him away from Agent Carter – _fuck,_  had he frightened her? “Whatever you’re fussing about, you’re just going to have to get over it.”

 

“You don’t get it,” Bucky snapped and wrenched his arm from Howard’s grip.

 

He put too much weight on his bad leg and stumbled, letting out a hissed curse of pain while he grabbed the back of his chair – because if this was Steve’s apartment then that was definitely _his_ chair, the one he’d claimed in childhood after Joseph Rogers left it empty and Steve’s ma thought it could use the use – to right himself while Agent Carter hovered nearby. Bucky waved her off again, he didn’t need her help.

 

“I can’t stay here,” he insisted.

 

“Too bad,” Agent Carter said. “You have to.”

 

“I can’t stay with _him,_ ” Bucky hissed.

 

“Captain Barnes, I didn’t peg you for a bigoted man,” Agent Carter started sharply, but Bucky cut her off.

 

“I’m not a fucking bigot,” he said, voice tight and quiet from the throbbing pain in his leg, “I can’t stay with Steve ‘cause I can’t force myself on him like this again!”

 

Agent Carter went silent. Howard cleared his throat.

 

“Again?” he said bemusedly. “Do you two… know each other?”

 

Bucky didn’t have an answer to that, because the door Steve had slammed shut opened again abruptly. It banged off the wall and Steve stood there, and _holy shit he was wearing Bucky’s old coat;_  he’d thought he’d lost it in the move from Brooklyn to Queens, but there it was, wrapped around Steve’s fragile shoulders and bunched around his thin neck. Bucky swallowed roughly again, as Steve glared daggers at him.

 

Then, as though it were burning him, Steve ripped the coat off of his body. He balled it up, his face twisted in hatred, and threw it onto the floor. It landed in front of Bucky’s armchair and lay there, unwanted. His gaze never shifted from Bucky’s.

 

Bucky swallowed the lump in his throat. There was clearly no way to ever make up for what he’d done to Steve. Bucky didn’t know why he had ever, even briefly, entertained the idea that there could be.

 

“Peggy’s right,” Steve said, his voice icy and rough, “there’s nowhere else for you to stay, even if you obviously can’t stand being around me. So, you’ll just have to hide here until they can find someplace less offensive for you to hole up in.”

 

“I am lost,” Howard said while Bucky tried to find words to respond to the mess of things that had just left Steve’s mouth. “You know each other?”

 

“Yes,” Steve spat. “He was my Alpha.”

 

Bucky felt rather like Steve had just punched him in the gut, as for the next few seconds, he couldn’t breathe. _Was_ his Alpha. Fuck, if Bucky had somehow managed to become Steve’s Alpha while they were still just kids, that made his betrayal even worse. Steve glared at him, with hard eyes that showed how hard Bucky had turned his heart, and, _fuck,_  Bucky had _once_ been his Alpha. He knew he was a monster, had known since he’d woken up in Queens instead of Brooklyn in January of 1933, but looking at what he’d done made it all come crashing back down on him again.

 

Howard looked at him with wide eyes and Agent Carter looked at Steve with an unreadable expression. Bucky looked at the boy he’d wronged and wished he wasn’t such a good sniper so they would have left him strapped to a table in Zola’s lab and gotten some other man, one who had never raped Steve Rogers, to assassinate Adolf Hitler.

 

“We really don’t have anywhere else to keep him,” Agent Carter said to Steve. “Are you sure you’re okay with him being here?”

 

“Of course,” Steve said, still so cold, cold because of what Bucky had done, _fuck,_ “he’s no worse no worse than the rest of my clients.”

 

He never looked away from Bucky. Bucky wished _he_ could look away. He wished he were dead.

 

“I’ll have to carry on business as usual, you know, but I don’t think that will bother you,” Steve’s voice was rock steady, sharply contrasting to where Bucky’s hands still shook pressed to his face, and his eyes blazed white-hot fury into Bucky and lit up all his guilt to burn a hole right through his body. “Right?”

 

Bucky had no words in the face of Steve’s bitter words and hard eyes and cold attitude. There were none to even quantify the kinds of sorry he was, and none that would even begin to make anything better.

 

“We have to go,” Agent Carter said, though she sounded like she’d rather not. “Will you be alright on your own? Do you want me to come back?”

 

“No,” Steve exhaled, voice venomous. “I’m sure we’ll be fine.”

 

Steve was going to kill him or torture him or something equally horrible that Bucky completely deserved, and Bucky wouldn’t fight back. If killing him gave Steve some sense of self back, Bucky would show him how to hold the gun steady himself. He’d load it for him. He’d put it in his own mouth and squeeze the trigger himself just so Steve wouldn’t need to get his hands dirty. Bucky would do anything to attempt to atone for his unforgivable sins.

 

“Alright,” said Agent Carter after a long moment. Her voice and manner were hesitant, like she didn’t want to leave Bucky alone with Steve; Bucky didn’t blame her, he didn’t her to leave Steve alone with him either. “If you’re sure…”

 

“Positive,” Steve said, setting his jaw.

 

For a second, Bucky was a kid again and Steve was refusing to let Bucky pay for his lunch for the fourth or fourteenth time that week or something just as petty, and Steve was just the same stubborn boy that Bucky had last seen, that he could remember, refusing to take Bucky’s hand to help him into a chair even though he was so dizzy he was about to fall over.

 

Bucky didn’t remember much of anything past realizing that Steve was in heat. Steve’s flushed neck and his glassy eyes and his faint words begging for Bucky to come nearer. His mother had promised that was normal, his memory would be spotty for his first few ruts. She’d also promised that Steve had probably wanted it, he’d been scared, hurting, and could only think that Bucky could help. Steve had thought he could trust Bucky, his mother had said, he was safe to Steve. She also promised that it was a miracle Bucky hadn’t bitten him, that Steve hadn’t died, and that, since he was so young, he wouldn’t have been able to become pregnant from it. Only, Bucky knew that if Steve had been in heat, he wasn’t in his right mind, and that meant he couldn’t truly consent.

 

His mother had promised that Steve wouldn’t want to see him again, and she was right.

 

Steve never stopped glaring at him, even after Agent Carter and Howard Stark left, taking Bucky’s coat and hat. Howard was shouting about infidelity, like they’d planned, but his voice was fading with every second. Bucky was still clutching the back of his chair.

 

Steve glared. Bucky swallowed.

 

His leg gave out under him.

 

“Shit!” he gasped as he hit the floor, grabbed his thigh and pressed to the blood that had burst into flow again, didn’t even hear the footsteps before Steve was filling his vision and pressing both hands to Bucky’s leg. “Steve, Steve, no, you don’t have to –”

 

“Shut up, _Jim,_ ” Steve hissed. It stung.

 

He tugged off his shirt and wrapped it around Bucky’s leg; the blood bloomed on the fabric, an affectation of roses growing in time-lapse on pure cotton, while Bucky did his best not to stare at Steve’s now bare chest. Until he saw that Steve's body was littered with bruises and he openly ogled, somehow too shocked to swell with self-righteous rage that someone had beat his Omega – not that Steve was his anymore.

 

Steve tied the sleeves over the wound, tied them tight, not tight enough for a tourniquet but tight enough to keep pressure, then grabbed Bucky under the arms and tugged. Bucky was heavy, though, and for all Steve’s tugging, he was too small to lift him, so Bucky grabbed the chair again and yanked himself up, gritting his teeth at the fresh wave of pain in his thigh. Steve wrapped his arm around Bucky’s waist, the other hand fisted in the front of his shirt, and helped him hobble across the room into a bedroom, forcing him down onto a bed before he even realized that Steve had probably just led him into his own bedroom, since suddenly all he could smell was gingerbread.

 

His breathing was ragged, a combination of the onslaught of Steve’s scent and the pain. Steve carefully laid both of Bucky’s legs onto the mattress, pulling pillows over and stacking one behind Bucky’s back, Bucky was in _Steve’s_ bed, _shit._

 

“You don’t have to do this,” Bucky said hastily.

 

“I said, shuddup,” Steve snapped in reply. He pushed at Bucky’s shoulders, until Bucky gave in and lay back, then grabbed the second pillow and propping his leg up with it. “I think you’re supposed to elevate bleeding wounds, right?”

 

He sounded nervous, now, not angry.

 

“Yeah,” Bucky answered, throat drier yet. “Yeah, you’re right.”

 

“Good,” Steve said, now looking at anything but Bucky. “Have you eaten? You look thin.”

 

“Not for a few days,” Bucky muttered. Or a few weeks. Time passed different strapped down to cold steel tables, endless injections of concoctions flowing into veins, he wasn’t even sure if it was still November.

 

Steve swelled abruptly, glaring at the bloody roses staining his shirt around Bucky’s thigh, and stomped out of the room. Bucky half rose up, but Steve threw a snappish: “Stay put!” over his shoulder as he left.

 

Bucky propped himself up on an elbow, staring out the door. Of course, Steve wouldn’t just let him bleed out on the floor. Of course, he’d start taking care of him instead of leaving him to die of his wounds. Steve didn’t have a malicious bone in his body. He was too righteous to let even his fucking rapist die in his home.

 

He collapsed back against the pillows, covering his face with both hands. Steve was too good for his own good. He’d thought the universe couldn’t get crueler when he landed on Zola’s operating table – when in his drugged-up hazes, he saw angels that had Steve’s long hands and crystalline eyes, angels that charged and raged and fought to reach him and always, always got cut down, halos clattering to the ground, bloody roses blooming in time-lapse on their wings –, but clearly, it could do worse and to better men than he.

 

He wasn’t sure how long of a time passed before Steve entered the room again, carrying a bowl in his hands. He dragged a chair up to the bed, pushed another pillow behind Bucky to help him sit up, then lifted the spoon in the bowl, filled with beans, up to Bucky’s lips.

 

“Eat,” he said flatly.

 

“You don’t gotta do this, Stevie, don’t do this,” Bucky tried to beg.

 

“Eat,” Steve insisted, shoving the spoon up to his mouth. “Don’t call me Stevie.”

 

Bucky didn’t eat. “I’m sorry, I know it can’t make up for what I did, but believe me, I’m sorry, but don’t do this to yourself, c’mon, this ain’t healthy –”

 

“You don’t get to decide what’s healthy for me or not,” Steve snapped. “Not that you ever did.”

 

“‘M not trying to decide for you,” Bucky promised, babbling now, “promise, I’d never try and push you into something you don’t wanna do, never again, Stevie, I swear –”

 

“Don’t call me that,” Steve interrupted sharply.

 

Bucky fell silent. Steve pressed the spoon against his lips, jaw set stubbornly. If Bucky blinked, let his eyes slip from focus, he saw the angel again. The sunset through the slats in the blinds put a golden halo in his straw-colored hair. The curve of the light from his chest and shoulders onto the wall mimicked the shape of folded wings. His eyes burned with a righteous and holy flame; burned Bucky’s guilt into his skin like a brand. He saw an angel.

 

Then, hadn’t Steve been conceived that way, gone from seed to child in his mother’s womb an avenging angel?

 

Bucky opened his mouth. Steve fed him spoonfuls of beans, until the bowl was scraped clean and the gnawing hunger in Bucky's gut that he’d come to ignore was abated. When Steve set the bowl on the nightstand, Bucky spoke again.

 

“I swear, I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

 

“I’m sure,” answered Steve in a tone just as dark as before.

 

“I know I can never make up for it,” Bucky added, “but I’m sorry, I promise. It was my fault.”

 

His mother tried to say it hadn’t been. She had tried to convince him that it was impossible for an Alpha to resist the scent of heat, especially after slipping into a rut, that it was impossible for an Omega to deny themselves or their Alphas. Bucky had refused to believe it. He knew what _no_ meant.

 

“I shouldn’t have done it,” he forced out, “should’ve done better by you.”

 

Steve glanced at him, and his expression shifted for a moment before he looked away from him, to his thigh and injury. “Doesn’t matter now,” he said. “What’s done is done.”

 

“If there was a way I could fix it –” Bucky tried to say, and Steve shook his head, looking nauseated. “I didn’t ever mean to hurt you,” he started over.

 

“If you didn’t want to hurt me,” Steve whispered, so quiet Bucky barely heard it, “then you never should have left.”

 

Steve jerked to his feet, grabbed the bowl from the nightstand, and walked from the room. Bucky stared after him, watching his shadow retreat, mouth hanging slightly open. He tried to formulate a thought to respond to that, couldn’t, and ended up just staring at the deserted doorway.

 

Shouldn’t have left?

 

“What,” he muttered. “What?”

 

Why would staying have made anything any better? Steve would have had to see him, every single day for the rest of their lives, probably, until one or both of them got married and moved away, Steve would have had to see him everyday, face the monster who just took without caring and know that it was his best friend who’d betrayed him, and Steve had wanted him to _stay?_

 

A long time passed. Bucky stared at the ceiling until his eyes started to itch and he realized how tired he was, let them fall shut with a heavy exhale when he heard knuckles rapping on wood.

 

He tried to sit up, but hands pushed him back down.

 

“I have to lock the door,” Steve’s voice drifted to him in the half-sleep he was already in. “You need to stay in here an' keep quiet. I have a client.”

 

Bucky’s eyes shot open, all thoughts of sleep fled from his mind as he inhaled and _there,_  there was the fresh scent of a stranger loitering outside the apartment. An unknown Alpha waiting to be let in. Fuck, Bucky wanted nothing more than to lurch out of the bed and drive whoever it was off with the pistol he had shoved in the waistband of his slacks, or just plain shoot them between the eyes before they could look at Steve with lust in them.

 

But Steve was still pushing on his shoulders, a pinched expression on his face, and Bucky came back to himself with a crash. He couldn’t do that. Steve didn’t want him to do that. He had no right to do that, and to make matters worse, he couldn’t do it even if Steve would let him, he couldn’t blow their cover. So he swallowed bile and nodded to Steve, falling back and rubbing at his eyes with a hand. He heard the lock click on the door, then yanked one of the pillows out from behind and covered his face in it.

 

It was permeated with the warm and mellow scent of gingerbread, vanilla and cinnamon and allspice, all things he associated with Steve, all things that had spoiled and gone sour – _his fault, his fault_ – in his head but still sang to his heart.

 

He heard quiet voices, then someone laughing. After a second, he realized that it was Steve laughing. But it didn’t sound like Steve laughing; the laugh that he heard was chemical and false and screechy. It was the laugh of a cartoon villain about to monologue over the hero and therefore lose, not an avenging angel ready to spit bloody roses and swing bruised knuckles again.

 

Bucky gritted his teeth and clamped the pillow over his face; Steve would probably be twice as mad at him later for getting his scent all over his pillowcase, but then again, he had put Bucky in his own bed instead of the second bedroom or on the couch.

 

He heard a door shut, the quiet voices switching to other, more breathy sounds. Bucky stuffed his mouth with the pillow and bit hard, holding back the instinct to run out and stop it. The second bedroom, he figured out by then, was where Steve worked. He’d had nowhere else but his own bedroom to keep Bucky. Great.

 

A day ago, the most painful thing he had ever endured was Zola running razor blades over the soles of his feet, just to cut him open for the hell of it, apparently. But having to listen to the muffled sounds of someone else having sex with Steve through a wall was so much worse than any torture Zola could have used on him.

 

An hour, _sixty fucking minutes of agony,_  and the sounds stopped. The door to the second bedroom opened and shut. The quiet voices resumed, he heard Steve make that false laugh again that sickened him, then the front door opened and shut. He heard the slide of bolts and chains and withdrew the pillow from his mouth. He’d bitten through the fabric of the case.

 

The door to the room he was in unlocked and opened. Steve didn’t look at him, but Bucky watched as he crossed to the closet, drew out fresh clothes, walked back out again. He heard a shower turn on and praised God, because the scent of sex and strangers on Steve made Bucky want to hurl, too. He kept telling himself he had no right to feel like that, but logic didn’t ease nausea.

 

Steve came back in half an hour later. He finally looked at Bucky, but only at his leg.

 

“Bleeding’s stopped,” he mused.

 

Steve reached out and untied the sleeves, unwrapped the shirt, then shifted his hand and stopped.

 

“I need to take your pants off,” he said quietly.

 

Bucky grunted.

 

Steve drew back his hand, then glanced at Bucky and away again. His cheeks were pink from the shower still. Bucky grimaced, then reached for his belt and unfastened it, snapped open the button and shoved down the fly. Wincing in pain, he lifted his ass into the air to shove the slacks down past his hips to his knees. The left leg of his trousers was stiff with blood and the bandage Agent Carter had put on him earlier went with it. He collapsed back onto the bedspread, half panting from the exertion, and left his pants around his knees. Steve glanced back, then away again to push the leg of his boxers up past the wound. Bucky let out a hiss when Steve’s fingers probed gently at his thigh, but they came back clean from blood.

 

“Should I leave it open?” Steve asked quietly. “Bandage it again?”

 

“Dress it,” Bucky muttered. “Don’t want gangrene that high up my leg.”

 

“Right,” Steve answered, then pulled Bucky’s slacks the rest of the way off his legs and left the room with them. Bucky stared up at the ceiling, feeling thoroughly disgusted with himself in a way he hadn’t been for twelve or thirteen years. It had been October when he’d been captured, it was probably a few days into November. Twelve, almost thirteen years, then.

 

Steve came back in, armed with a first aid kit, wrapped his leg in gauze and left again. Bucky looked at the bite marks in Steve’s pillow, asked himself how he managed to fuck up Steve’s life this much _twice._  And Steve had wanted him to stay before – He couldn't even begin to understand what that meant.

 

Steve returned when the sun faded from the bedroom window, bearing another bowl of beans. He took the pillow Bucky had cast aside to place it behind Bucky’s head, then stopped when he saw the marks Bucky’s teeth had left in it.

 

“‘M sorry,” Bucky said immediately.

 

“It’s fine,” Steve muttered.

 

“I shouldn’t be doing this to you,” he said as Steve tried to hold the spoon to his mouth. “You deserve better.”

 

Steve blinked at him. Then he dropped the spoon into the bowl, causing a sharp ringing sound, and he let out a short, sharp sound that took Bucky by surprise. It took him a second to understand that it had been a laugh, too, humorless and cold. False. Chemical. Not the laugh of the avenging angel, not the laugh of earlier, either; the laugh of a jaded angel. It was Bucky’s fault, he’d turned Steve into a bitter, jaded angel.

 

“I deserve better?” Steve asked wryly, eyebrows high on his head. “Buck, I’m a hooker, have been for four and a half years, I got guys I don’t know the names of walking in and out of my place like they own it, _I’m_ owned by a Nazi officer who likes to call me his pet, and I deserve better than you with a fever and bleeding all over my stuff, telling me you’re sorry?”

 

Steve smiled a smile that was jarringly cold at Bucky. Cruel, hard-hearted, calloused,  _bitter._ It was his fault.

 

“You’re delusional," Steve concluded.

 

“You deserve gold,” Bucky mumbled. Then, he frowned. “I have a fever?”

 

Steve touched his fingers to Bucky’s forehead; they felt freezing against his skin, then Steve turned his hand and pressed the inside of his wrist against his temple. Bucky sucked in a breath, but rapidly shut his eyes and clenched his jaw. He knew it was only because Steve's wrist would be better circulated and better at checking temperature, but he wanted Steve to be touching him that way because he was scent-marking him. Bucky's eyes squeezed tight, his heart skipping multiple beats in his chest. He was sick, wasn’t he?

 

“‘S not as bad as it was when you first got here,” Steve was saying. “But, yeah, fever.”

 

“Oh,” Bucky said to that.

 

“It’s probably why you’re saying stupid things like _you deserve gold,_ ” Steve said in a derisive tone.

 

Bucky caught his hand when Steve pulled it away, wanted to press Steve's fingers to his lips but didn’t, he wasn’t _that_ sick in the head to act that way with Steve ever again, but caught Steve's hand regardless and squeezed his fingers. Steve’s eyes were wide, startled, not afraid, otherwise Bucky would let go and shut up.

 

“You deserve gilded gold,” Bucky insisted. “You deserve marble floors and claw foot bathtubs with expensive perfumed soaps and towels like clouds. You deserve silk sheets to sleep on and the freshest Arabian coffees and the richest creams to put in it. And operas, Stevie, you deserve to go to the operas whenever you want, to listen to them in person instead of on the radio, and to go to the Met and to the Louvre and learn from Picasso and whoever else people call famous artists these days, and –”

 

“Bucky, quit talking shit,” Steve snapped, tugging his hand away. His ears had gone red and his voice was raw. “Your fever’s messing with your head.”

 

“You deserve better,” Bucky said in a mumble.

 

“Like you care,” Steve said in a quieter mumble, pulling the spoon out of the bowl again.

 

“I care,” Bucky insisted and Steve jerked his head back up. “Fuck, Steve, you’re the only person I’ve ever loved in my life, of course I fucking care.”

 

“Shut up, Buck,” Steve warned, cheeks going pink and the tip of his nose red. He was about to cry, Bucky was making him cry, his nose always went red right before he started sniffling. “Don’t say shit you don’t mean,” Steve told him angrily.

 

“I ain’t never told you a lie in my life,” Bucky swore.

 

The spoon hit the bowl, tin ringing against tin, and Steve gaped at him. There was the glistening at his eye, and when he blinked, Bucky reached out to brush away the tear from under Steve’s eye. He was _sick;_ still wanting to touch Steve after what he did, still loving him, hating seeing him cry and being the cause of it. He was _sick._

 

“You left me,” Steve hissed and slapped Bucky's hand away; the hit stung and Bucky recoiled, feeling ashamed of himself. “Don’t act like you loved me ever, Bucky, ‘s only gonna make it worse," Steve told him. "You _left._ ”

 

“I didn’t wanna hurt you more,” Bucky insisted. “I love you, Stevie. ‘M sorry, I know it just makes what I did worse, but I’ve always loved you.”

 

“Don’t,” Steve started, flinching away from his name coming from Bucky’s mouth. “Don’t lie to me. Don’t call me that. Don’t – just don’t.”

 

“I’m not lying!” Bucky repeated.

 

“But you left!” Steve snapped. He set the bowl of beans aside to grab Bucky’s hand with both of his instead and squeeze it tightly. “Why’d you leave if you loved me?”

 

“‘Cause I loved you,” Bucky said. “‘S why you shouldn’t have to be doing this now, you deserve better’n me.”

 

“You’re gonna kill Hitler,” Steve said bluntly. “What’s better than that?”

 

“I nearly killed you,” Bucky argued.

 

Steve blinked at him. Bucky pulled his hand away to brush more tears from Steve’s cheek.

 

“When?” Steve asked and Bucky’s hand stilled halfway to his face.

 

“What?” Bucky said. “What’d’you mean, when?”

 

“I mean, when?” Steve insisted. The tightness in his voice had been replaced with confusion? He sounded confused? “When did you nearly kill me? What are you talking about?”

 

“I – What do you think I’m talking about?” Bucky spluttered.

 

“I have no idea,” Steve admitted.

 

For a second, they blinked at each other.

 

“What else could I mean?” Bucky asked, dumbfounded.

 

“Are you hallucinating?” Steve asked in reply. “Do you know who I am?”

 

“Of course I fucking know who you are, Steve!” Bucky snapped.

 

“Then why do you think you almost killed me?" Steve demanded. 

 

“You were too young,” Bucky said, then choked on his own words while Steve blinked at him. He was _sick._

 

“What?” Steve repeated.

 

“When you were in heat, Steve," Bucky forced himself to say, "I got to you when you were in heat and I –”

 

The look on Steve’s face made him fall flat. It wasn’t disgust, or outrage, or horror. It was complete and utter _bewilderment._

 

“You were locked in a separate room,” Steve said slowly. “Unless scenting me once before _you_ locked me in the bathroom counts as nearly killing me, you never touched me. _You_ locked me in the bathroom and threw the key out the window, Buck!”

 

“But –”

 

Steve continued blinking at him.

 

“I –”

 

Bucky turned and frowned at the ceiling. He heard Steve draw in a long, trembling breath.

 

“My mother said –”

 

“Bucky,” Steve interrupted, voice low and cautious, “why didn’t you come back for me?”

 

“My mother said I raped you,” Bucky answered hoarsely.

 

“Oh, _Bucky._ ”

 

Steve was closer than he’d been before when Bucky looked back at him. “That never happened,” he said quietly, almost as choked up as Bucky felt.

 

Bucky gaped, at a loss for words, what to do, what to say. “You – You don't remember it,” he forced out, “you've blocked it out of your memory, or –”

 

“Don't you think my ma would've told me if you raped me?” Steve pointed out gently. “It never happened, Buck.”

 

For a second, all Bucky did was hold his breath. Then, he let it out in an echoing: “Oh.”

 

“Yeah,” Steve huffed. “Oh.”

 

Something in his chest twisted. Bucky reached out, then stopped himself and swallowed air. Steve was still crying, Bucky barely felt the pain in his leg for the clusterfuck that was his head. Then he reached out again, careful so Steve could stop him if he wanted, and pressed both palms to Steve’s cheeks.

 

Steve lifted his hands, but instead of pushing Bucky away, he pressed both of his hands over the top of Bucky’s, holding them firmly in place.

 

“I am so sorry,” Bucky promised. “I swear, sweetheart, I never meant to hurt you.”

 

Steve inhaled shakily, then nodded stiffly. “You were, what, protecting me from yourself?”

 

“Kinda,” Bucky mumbled.

 

Perhaps if he hadn’t been in immense pain, exhausted, or spent the past uncountable days under a variety of tortures and duress hallucinating avenging angels, the knowledge that he had not, in fact, committed statutory rape against his best friend thirteen years ago would have been more earthshaking. Perhaps it would hit him later that his mother had told such a massive lie, perhaps he would later become indignant and enraged that his mother was so conservative and backwards that she was willing to tell her son he was a rapist rather than let him fall in love with a boy, perhaps later he would realize that had he gone home instead of listening to his mother, he would have found Steve sooner and maybe then Steve wouldn’t have had to turn to this.

 

But in that moment, Steve was crying, and Bucky had to make it better.

 

“‘S what I thought, anyway,” he whispered, brushing at the tears making the dark circles under Steve's eyes shiny. “I’m so sorry, baby.”

 

“I forgive you, then,” Steve said, then inhaled again, a little more steadily. “I – I wouldn’t ask you to – I’m not –”

 

“Can I kiss you? Hold you?” Bucky interrupted. “Please?”

 

“Buck,” Steve said, his voice shaking, “I’m – I love you, too, alright, I’ve always loved you, but I’m not –”

 

“Steve,” Bucky begged, “please? C’mere, baby, I know I can’t make it okay, but lemme try, please?”

 

“I’m a _prostitute,_ ” Steve hissed. “You can’t – _You_ deserve bet–”

 

“If you’re about to tell me that I deserve better than _you_ , the sweetest, most kind-hearted, most stubborn fella I’ve ever had the pleasure of knowing, you’re gonna have to fight me, ‘cause you’d be insulting my best guy,” Bucky insisted.

 

Steve laughed again, the sound carrying less falsity than any laugh Bucky heard him give today, and Bucky pulled him in to press their lips together. Steve tasted salty from the tears and fresh from brushing his teeth. His hands migrated, to the back of Steve’s neck and head, while Steve fisted his own hands into the front of Bucky’s shirt.

 

The beans went cold, lying forgotten in their tin bowl on the nightstand. Steve left the chair to curl up on top of the bedspread against Bucky’s side, hands still fisted into his shirt, like he didn’t want to let go. Bucky had his arms locked around Steve, so he wasn’t much better.

 

“I have a client coming at nine,” Steve mumbled after that.

 

And with that, reality crashed into Bucky again.

 

“I can send him away,” Steve whispered against Bucky’s tense shoulders.

 

“Can’t,” Bucky said, traces of a growl lacing his voice, “can’t break cover.”

 

Steve huddled closer to him. Bucky wished that he didn’t have a bullet wound pulsing with pain in his thigh, or else he could have turned onto his side and held Steve closer.

 

“I hate it,” Steve said. “Have the entire time. But I don’t have much else in options. D’you know, policy for businesses in half of New York says don’t hire Omegas past the age of 20? It’s fine to fire us just for being that old, too.”

 

“Why?” Bucky demanded of the air. “Who even thought that was right?”

 

“It’s since we gotta be at home to raise our kids, cook and clean for our Alphas. We belong in the kitchen,” Steve murmured. “I can’t have any kids, to let you know, it’d probably kill me.”

 

The way Steve’s voice got all small as he finished his sentence, how the words _probably kill me_ were barely audible, coupled with the bitter scent of shame slipping more strongly from Steve’s skin, ticked something in Bucky. He shifted half onto his side, despite the stabbing pain in his thigh, tugged Steve in closer so he was tucked securely under Bucky’s chin, and purposefully ran his wrists down Steve’s crooked spine and ribs.

 

“We’ll adopt if you want kids,” Bucky promised him.

 

“Buck –” Steve started, but Bucky fixed him with a look that made him shut his mouth again.

 

“No way I’m letting you go now,” Bucky swore. “No way I’m leaving you to work yourself to the bone doing something you detest for the rest of your life. I don’t care what it takes, I’m getting you outta here, I’ll work day and night in coal factories if I have to. We’ll have a two-story brownstone with a roof garden or someplace in the suburbs, with white picket fence, we’ll adopt as many or as little or no kids if you want, we’ll get a dog or cats or both or fuckin’ birds if you want ‘em, Stevie. I ain’t turning my back on you ever again, I’m with you ‘til the end of the line.”

 

 _Until death do us part,_  he meant.

 

Steve looked up at him, wide-eyed, for a long moment, then his lips curled in something that wasn’t as pleasant as a smile and he let out a short laugh.

 

“Agent Carter’s setting me up in a two-story brownstone with a roof garden,” he said.

 

“Wait, really?” Had Bucky missed something? “Since when?”

 

“That was what I asked for,” Steve said with a nod. “A way out of this, for all the German secrets I can wring out of Schmidt.”

 

“I’m killing that guy,” Bucky decided. “He’s after Hitler.”

 

Steve pressed a palm to his cheek then and drew Bucky in for a sweet kiss. “Guess that’s all you gotta do then. Take out the Führer and you got me out. Simple as that.”

 

“Simple as that,” Bucky agreed and leaned in for another sweet kiss. Never mind his shaking hands. Never mind the idea of looking through the sights of a gun made his head hurt and heart beat erratically and painfully. Bucky would do whatever it took to give Steve his two-story brownstone and roof garden.

 

When the knock to the front door came, Steve left and locked the bedroom behind him. Bucky clamped the pillow over his face again. The sounds were quieter this time. They lasted just as long still, they turned his stomach still, but they were quieter. The hour past, he heard the client leave, the locks, bolts, chains slide home, and the shower start up. The lock on the bedroom door clicked again, and Steve stepped inside, hair dripping on his shirt. On Bucky’s jacket. He was wearing it again.

 

Bucky held out his hands. At the door, Steve hesitated. His lower lip trembled as he inhaled.

 

“C’mere,” Bucky begged him. Steve came. Bucky forced himself into the middle of the bed so he could pull Steve on top of his good side, fully onto his chest, one of Steve’s legs lying between both of his, locked his arms around him. He didn’t cry, not any longer, but he shook still.

 

“How can you stand me?” Steve whispered. “I – I don’t understand, Buck –”

 

“Steve," Bucky answered just as softly, "Stevie, shh, don’t talk like that.”

 

“Bucky, I’m serious –” Steve said.

 

“I love you, Steve," Bucky reminded him, "I’m always gonna love you –”

 

“I’m betraying you,” Steve insisted, his voice cracking.

 

“I betrayed you first,” Bucky said firmly.

 

“Not really,” Steve murmured.

 

“I left you to this,” Bucky answered. “‘S my fault. I should’ve come back for you.”

 

Steve hiccuped, lifted his face from where it was buried in Bucky’s neck, and kissed him firmly. His mouth tasted like baking soda and regret. Bucky never realized that regret had a taste; it was like copper and salt, like blood and tears, but more acrid than that. Like there was tar coating the back of his throat and teeth, regret congealed into solid, corporeal form. It was bittersweet, kissing Steve, and when he lifted his lips away, he pressed their foreheads together, such that Bucky could still smell the regret on his breath.

 

“How could you know?” Steve asked. “Did you think I moved on?”

 

Bucky nodded, threading his fingers through Steve’s hair.

 

“I tried,” Steve confessed. “But what I said – You still _are_ my Alpha. All the girls I tried to court, they knew. There’s five Alpha women in Brooklyn, y’know, and all of ‘em could tell I had an Alpha already.”

 

“‘M never turning my back on you again,” Bucky swore, kissing him again, bitter lips and sweet mouths. “Never again, Stevie. I don’t care if you’ve been with every guy in New York, in the whole of America, I don’t care; if you’re mine, you’re mine, I’m not leaving you again.”

 

“You’re a moron,” Steve hiccuped again, swiping a hand over his brow, checking his temperature or scenting him, Bucky didn’t know.

 

Bucky pulled him down again, one hand at the nape of his neck, and with the other, he ran his wrist over every inch of Steve’s skin that he could. He rucked up Steve’s shirt and pressed his scent into the notches of his spine, the slats of his ribs, the slope of his back to his ass – but no further down than that, Steve didn't say he could touch further than that –, down his arms, even. They kissed like they were about to die, or like the secret to living was found in the back of each other’s mouths; and perhaps it was, for as bittersweet as it was, kissing Steve filled him with a new life and new energy in his heart that hadn’t been there since January of 1933.

 

The passage of time was a trivial thing, then. When their kiss ended, Steve fell asleep, and Bucky was soon to follow him. He kept marking Steve, layering his own scent over the traces of others’ left on his Omega’s skin.

 

Bucky hadn’t slept through the night in months. He had barely slept at all in the hands of the Nazis, and before that, he was always waking up to take watch at some point. Before that, he’d toss and turn and slip in and out of deep sleep, wake up exhausted and snappish only to be mollified by his mother smacking the back of his head. Steve’s hair occasionally brushed his nose, but it meant that the scent of gingerbread filled his head, and Bucky slept soundly through the whole night.

 

Until Steve stirred. Bucky made to sit up when Steve slipped away from him, but Steve pressed his hands to Bucky’s shoulders and pushed him back down.

 

“Just getting breakfast,” he mumbled. “Client in about an hour.”

 

Bucky fell back against the pillow. Right. Of course, Steve had clients in the morning. He sought out a clock and found that it was just past seven, which meant Steve had a client coming at eight. What kind of sex-crazed maniac had to see a prostitute at eight in the fucking morning?

 

Steve returned with bread and beans, this time letting Bucky feed himself, at least until his hands shook so much that he dropped a spoonful of beans onto the bedspread. Bucky opened his mouth to apologize, but Steve just shook his head and scooped it up with the spoon, holding it up to Bucky’s mouth. When the bowl of beans had been scraped clean and Bucky had finished his piece of bread, he looked around for Steve’s breakfast, and found none.

 

“What’re you gonna eat?” Bucky asked, a little gruffly. His throat felt scratchy.

 

Steve didn’t answer him. Bucky sat up a little as Steve breezed out of the room, stayed sitting up until Steve re-entered holding two mugs.

 

“What are you going to eat?” Bucky asked again.

 

“I’m fine,” Steve said, handing him a mug. He looked down into it, sniffed it, and found it was tea. He looked into it for a second, while Steve curled up next to him and began sipping his own tea. Then he shifted the mug to his other hand, draped his arm around Steve’s shoulders, and pulled him in gently.

 

“Don’t tell me you gave me your breakfast,” Bucky said gently.

 

“I didn’t,” Steve mumbled around his mug.

 

Bucky watched him drink, then let his gaze drop to Steve’s chest. Even hidden by his shirt as it was, he had dragged his hands over every bit of Steve’s skin that he could reach the night before, he'd felt Steve's bones then. His ribs were sharp, spine prominent.

 

“Did you eat already?” Bucky asked carefully.

 

“Yeah,” Steve said.

 

“Don’t lie, sweetheart,” Bucky murmured. Steve tensed under his arm, but that was why Bucky had done it, so Steve couldn’t get up and run out of the room. “Do you eat breakfast?”

 

Steve’s silence was enough. Bucky gritted his teeth, then let go of Steve and swung his legs over the edge of the bed.

 

“Where are you going?” Steve demanded, jumping up behind him.

 

“You didn’t eat last night,” Bucky said, limping out of the bedroom towards the kitchen, dressed only in his shirt and socks and a pair of ratty boxers with his thigh wrapped in white gauze stained by bloody roses, but that didn’t matter much when he had to ensure his Omega ate.

 

“Buck, I’m fine –”

 

Bucky started rummaging in cupboards, looking for the beans and bread Steve had been feeding him. “You can’t skip dinner and then breakfast the next day,” he said. He found the tin of tea, found Hitler glaring up at him, and shoved it away with distaste.

 

“I’m not hungry,” Steve insisted.

 

Bucky turned around abruptly. He looked at Steve, looked at him hard, and found Steve looking at the floor. He limped closer, then gently, ever so gently, he never wanted to move too quickly towards him and make him flinch, he lifted the hem of Steve’s shirt and pressed his palm to Steve’s sunken belly.

 

It grumbled underneath his palm. Looking down, he caught the edge of an ugly purple bruise; he’d seen them the day before, but hadn’t been able to examine them then. Bucky lifted Steve’s shirt up a little further, brushed his fingers over the bruises littering Steve’s skin. There were marks like fists over his ribs, and smaller ones, like someone had pinched him, over the stretched skin of his stomach.

 

“Who did this?” he asked quietly.

 

“Schmidt,” Steve answered immediately.

 

Bucky brushed his fingers over the smaller marks. Pinches. Some faded, some fresh. They turned on something murderous in him. “Does he tell you not to eat?”

 

Steve looked down. Bucky dropped Steve’s shirt, hesitated, then gently knocked a finger under Steve’s chin. _Look at me,_  it said. _Stop frowning_ or _quit fussing_ or _look at me and just let me help._

 

Steve looked up at him with big eyes. The gesture meant as much as it had when they were kids.

 

“Does he tell you not to eat?” Bucky asked again.

 

Steve glanced down, but that was answer enough. Bucky adjusted his stance, then, foolishly, as it was likely to agitate his wound, he bent and lifted Steve around the middle. Steve let out a startled noise, but Bucky ignored him protesting and walked him over to the kitchen counter, where he sat him down and framed Steve’s matchstick thighs with his hands. He could close one of them over Steve’s calf, easily, could wrap both hands over Steve’s thighs and have his fingers interlock. He’d probably be able to fold his hands over Steve’s waist and have his fingertips touch.

 

“Look at me,” Bucky murmured, since Steve was looking at his hands. “Look at me, pretty.”

 

Steve glanced up, and then down again.

 

“You’re skin and bones,” Bucky crooned, reaching up and cupping a hand on Steve’s cheek. “One good gust of wind and you’d be gone. What’s this guy telling you?”

 

Steve mumbled something, vague words that Bucky couldn’t catch.

 

“Stevie,” Bucky murmured, “Stevie, this ain’t healthy. Whatever that bastard’s telling you, it’s lies. Can you eat a little something for me? Please, babydoll?”

 

Steve took a deep breath, exhaled and it trembled a little on its way out. Bucky pressed his other hand to Steve’s cheek, combed his fingers through Steve’s featherlight hair. It was thin and looked like it would break easy.

 

“A bit of bread, just that for now,” Bucky prompted. “A little more when your client’s gone.”

 

“I can’t gain any more weight,” Steve mumbled.

 

“Steve," Bucky pressed firmly and gently, "you don’t gain any, you’ll collapse under your own bones.”

 

“No, Bucky," Steve began, exhaling heavily, "I gain any weight, Schmidt’ll –”

 

“I’m gonna kill him,” Bucky interrupted, suddenly angry. “Second he comes back here, I’m killing him.”

 

“Bucky, you can’t kill him, that’ll blow my cover,” Steve snapped.

 

“You gotta eat, doll!” Bucky said.

 

“I _am_ eating, just not that much –” Steve started.

 

“You’re starving yourself,” Bucky interrupted again.

 

Steve glared at him, fierce. “I don’t think I’m fat,” he said firmly. “I wish I could gain weight. I’d love to just eat whenever I want. But Schmidt’s still coming around and if I don’t look a certain way – And you _can’t_ just kill him, Buck –”

 

“Watch me,” Bucky snarled, and Steve pressed both hands to his cheeks, bony fingers cold against his skin.

 

“Bucky, it’s only a couple of weeks until this is all over,” Steve tried to placate. “Just a couple of weeks, you’ll take out Hitler and then the war’ll turn for the better and we can get out of here.”

 

“Schmidt is not leaving this city alive,” Bucky insisted. He swept a hand through Steve’s starvation thin hair, cupped his hollow cheek and drew their foreheads together. “I’ll kill him slowly, make him wish I’d just kill him and have it over with, I’ll make him suffer –”

 

Steve cut him off with a kiss. It was short, chaste, and when Steve drew back, Bucky exhaled.

 

“After you’ve killed Hitler,” Steve promised.

 

“After,” Bucky muttered. He sighed, pressing their foreheads together. Steve was right, but that didn’t mean he had to like it. He was going to tie Schmidt to a wall, have him dangle and cut the soles of his feet and then let his weight fall on them; Zola taught him some pretty effective torture methods. He’d use them all on Schmidt.

 

“One piece of bread,” Bucky tried again a moment later.

 

Steve gave a sigh. “It’s in the cabinet above my head,” he said, and Bucky reached up instantly to pull out the loaf. It was half gone and stiff, stale like the bread he’d already eaten. He took out a slice, broke off a little piece, and held it to Steve’s mouth. Steve’s eyes flicked between the bread and Bucky’s face, then he opened his mouth and Bucky set the piece on his tongue. He fed the whole piece to Steve that way, bit by bit, until Steve had finished two and hadn’t noticed it. But the time wore on, and Steve patted his shoulder as he was reaching for a third piece to get him to stop. Maybe he had noticed.

 

“You should go lie down again,” Steve said. “You’re weak on your feet still.”

 

Bucky had been leaning on the counter the entire time. What Steve meant was that Bucky had to hide, Steve had to lock him in the bedroom while his client came in and they went to the second bedroom.

 

Bucky helped Steve hop off the counter, let Steve support a little of his weight so he could limp back into the bedroom, let Steve stack the pillows again and when he left one out, neither of them said anything. Bucky rested his head while Steve locked the door. When he heard the locks on the front door, he lifted the pillow to cover his face again. He shifted onto his good side, clamped the pillows over his ears and tried not to hear.

 

Steve had clients all day. There was sometimes a gap, half an hour or sometimes barely ten minutes, but the hands of the clock ticked on and Steve left the bedroom door locked, until it was past one and Steve came back in with more beans. Bucky tried not to wrinkle his nose at the clashing scents on Steve, tried not to gag when Steve came closer and he reeked like sex.

 

Steve couldn’t meet his eye, and under the smell of sex there was shame, so when he sat down to feed Bucky at lunchtime, Bucky put the bowl aside and pulled Steve in to cover up the smells. Steve hung his head while Bucky dragged his wrists over Steve’s arms, neck, hands and chest, until Bucky tugged him onto the bed and nosed his face under Steve’s jaw. Steve flinched and Bucky pulled away.

 

“Sorry,” he whispered hastily, “I don’t mean –”

 

“No, no, not – You’re okay, Buck,” Steve mumbled back. He inhaled, then settled against Bucky’s side and tilted his head back deliberately. For a moment, Bucky did nothing. Steve’s nose was pinched, the space between his brows tight and creased.

 

Bucky pushed a hand under the back of Steve’s head first, cradling his neck. Then, slowly, he pressed his face into the crook of Steve's neck. He kissed him gently, featherlight in rubbing his cheeks and nose over the cords of Steve’s neck, then sat up a little to reach the other side of his neck and place a careful kiss to Steve’s scent gland.

 

Steve drew in a soft breath. Bucky did no more than that, marked the other side of his neck, and pulled away. Steve shifted onto his side, pressed his head into Bucky’s shoulder, and exhaled deeply. The tension bled away from his shoulders as he inhaled and exhaled.

 

The clock chimed two and a heavy knock sounded on the front door. Steve went tense all over again, got up and locked the bedroom behind him without a word. Bucky didn’t touch the beans. He wasn’t hungry at all.

 

At six, Steve came back in to get fresh clothes and went for a shower. Twenty minutes after, he walked back in with his shoulders deflated and his eyes on the ground, shut the door behind him and stood there for a moment, staring at nothing. Bucky pushed himself onto his elbows, wincing at the pull of muscles on the gash in his thigh, watched and waited for Steve to do something.

 

“I don’t keep any of the money I make,” Steve said.

 

Bucky waited.

 

“I did before Schmidt,” he went on, fingers fiddling with the hem of his shirt. He picked at a thread, until it pulled too long and he dropped it. “I got to keep every penny.”

 

“They take it from you now?” Bucky asked, soft-like.

 

Steve shook his head. “I don’t even get handed the money. They pay the landlord on their way in.”

 

“Carter said he was on Schmidt’s payroll," Bucky said quietly.

 

“Schmidt owns the building,” Steve said then. “Buys food. Pays for heat and water and lights. Funny thing is, it’s nicer here than when I was on my own. But at the same time…”

 

“What?” Bucky prompted when Steve trailed off.

 

Steve sucked in a long breath. “I don’t leave here,” he said finally. “They used to let me out, let me work bars, but they caught me keeping a couple of dollars and now they don’t let me out anymore. I haven’t left this apartment since I met Peggy.”

 

“I’ll kill the landlord,” Bucky offered. He meant it.

 

Steve shook his head, and, at last, he neared the bed again. Bucky reached out for him, he hesitated, Bucky begged with his eyes and Steve lay down beside him. Bucky nuzzled his hair, dragged his wrists over his arms, kissed the top of his head.

 

“Just a little longer,” Steve murmured. “Then I get out of here.”

 

“We get out of here,” Bucky reminded him. “You’re stuck with me now.”

 

Steve laughed, half cold and half relieved, and snuggled closer. Bucky rucked up the side of his shirt, pressed his palms to Steve’s back, felt the dips between his ribs and the knobs of his spine. God, this place was sick.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _look at them communicating cuddly!steve and bucko oughta learn from them. i hope you had a good weekend and your monday doesn't suck ass, or if it does it makes it an art the way bucky does in the last chapter of edges blurred. comments are my lifeblood pls comment if you enjoyed it and ily ducklings_


	5. Four

**_[Gallery openings in Montreal, search results from October 2014]_ **

 

 _The Green Room – A spotlight for local artists. Rent the Green Room for a night, a week, or a month_ _here._ _See calendar with event details_ _here_ _. The Green Room is currently in use and will be until November 15th, 2014, posthumously showcasing the art of previously unknown painter Steven Grant Barnes..._

 

*

**[december 13th, 1944]**

 

Bucky was asleep. His fever had taken three days to break, the bullet wound in his leg six more to stop oozing blood. It never seemed to get infected, fortunately. Steve stood in the bathroom, the mirror fogged over but for where he had wiped clear a thin oval. He looked over his body, counting the bruises that weren’t yet faded. His knees were almost always purple these days. The pinch-marks under his navel were barely visible.

 

Gentler, he pinched the skin of his stomach. About a quarter inch of skin lifted, caught between his thumb and forefinger. Bucky had fed him bread and beans twice a day since he’d arrived, and it was showing. Schmidt wasn’t due for another week and a half, but Steve would have to skip a few days here and there to get it to go away.

 

Yet, staring at himself in the mirror, he doubted that Bucky would let him. The past two weeks had gone by in a blur, where every night had Steve collapsing into his bed next to Bucky and waiting for him to roll over in sheer disgust at how he never seemed to get the scent of sex out of his hair, only for Bucky to tug him closer and patiently cover every inch of Steve’s skin in his own scent. Only for Bucky to whisper endearments and _I love you_ s into his ear, always contradicting everything Steve had thought about love and adultery.

 

Steve couldn’t help it. He’d seen firsthand what happened to adulterous Omegas, he kept waiting for Bucky to change his mind.

 

He scrubbed at his hair roughly with a towel, dressed in loose pants and an undershirt, snatched up his dirty clothes and stalked out of the bathroom to the kitchen, pulling a tin tub from the pantry and setting it on the table. He started a kettle for hot water, filled the tub halfway with cold water and when the kettle whistled, added the hot. He dumped in powdered soap, a box that had Hitler’s face on it and proudly declared _für Führer und Vaterland._  dropped a washing board into it and started scrubbing.

 

He heard floorboards protesting and smelled woodsmoke growing closer. It overpowered the seeping stench from the second bedroom, slipped into his back and shoulders and undid the tightness of his muscles string by string. Bucky pressed up against his back, warm and comforting, and Steve slowed in his scrubbing to lean into him. Bucky’s lips connected with the side of his face, then his ear, then gently touched his neck. Steve dropped his head to the side, Bucky’s stubble tickled as he nuzzled his cheek against the slope of his neck. He hadn't shaved since coming.

 

His scent, rich and earthy, swirled in Steve’s nose; it loosened even his sinuses. He wanted to bathe in it, have it permeate and saturate every pore of his body until it stewed at home inside his bones. The pressure he’d forgotten was there fled from his skull. Bucky’s arms were loose about his waist, his hands slid beneath his shirt and pressed flat to his body; Bucky’s right palm covering Steve’s heart, his left pressed flat to his stomach. The movement had the potential to be sexual, had every right to be arousing, but all Steve felt was the urge to fall asleep in Bucky’s arms. He felt safe.

 

It was strange to think, this place was so rotten and molding, the inhumanity and its tendrils crept their way across the floors while he slept and spoiled the comfort locked doors and empty rooms left in his skin like milk left out to the heat. But here, it was like the horrors couldn’t touch him if Bucky had him in his arms.

 

Bucky’s lips brushed over the hinge of his jaw, his mouth pressing over the crest of his ear. “Mine,” he whispered.

 

A shiver slipped down Steve’s spine.

 

“I belong to me,” he mumbled, trying to be stubborn.

 

Bucky kissed his ear again. “‘S not what I meant. Your love’s mine.”

 

Steve dropped the washboard into the water. Bucky grabbed a hand towel, turned Steve around and dried off his hands, gentle, loving. He pulled him in again, tucked a strand of hair behind his ear – it had been too long since his last haircut, he’d meant to do it a few days ago, he kept forgetting – and pressed their foreheads together, the tips of their noses brushing. Steve inhaled through his mouth, almost gasping for breath in the richness of Bucky’s scent.

 

“Your heart’s mine,” Bucky murmured. Their lips brushed as he spoke. “Your future’s mine. That two-story brownstone, roof garden and all, it’s gonna be ours.”

 

Steve inhaled, shaking, swallowed, and Bucky rubbed their noses together. “Your kids are mine,” he murmured.

 

“I can’t have kids,” Steve said in a shuddering breath, hiccuping halfway through. “‘M too sick.”

 

“Said we’d adopt, didn’t I?” Bucky said, and Steve let out a sound like a choked sob. “You gotta believe me, Stevie, I love all of you, I love you when you’re crying and I love you when you’re hurting, I love you when you’re afraid and I love you when you’re working. I love you, Steve. Please, please believe that.”

 

“Who said I didn’t believe you?” Steve forced out, reaching up to wipe at his eyes furiously.

 

Bucky caught his hand, kissed his fingers, then brushed the tears clinging to his lashes with the rough pad of his thumb with gentleness. “I know you,” he murmured. “I know you, baby. I love you, I ain’t never told you a lie in my life and I ain’t about to start now.”

 

“You told me the fireworks on Independence Day were for my birthday,” Steve mumbled.

 

Bucky’s lips curled into a smile, a light chuckle escaping his lips. Steve felt the rumble of it against his chest.

 

“Okay, I told you one lie in my life,” Bucky said. “But only ‘cause you looked pretty in the lights.”

 

“Why’d you never move on from me, huh?” Steve demanded. It lacked grit. Less of a demand, more of a self-conscious plea. He couldn’t understand. “There had to be dozens of Omegas lining up for you, why’d you stay stuck on me?”

 

“I figured I messed up enough people for one lifetime,” Bucky said back. He swept his thumb under Steve’s lashes again, leaned in and kissed the crest of his brow, then the lid of his eye and the tip of his nose. “And who could take your place in my heart? You’d square up and fight ‘em for it, hell, I’d be your second.”

 

After a second, Steve smiled. “Hell yeah, I would,” he mumbled and Bucky kissed his lips.

 

“Believe me when I tell you I love you?”

 

Steve slipped his head under Bucky’s chin, tucked his face in the crook of his neck and circled his arms around Bucky’s waist. Bucky closed his arms around Steve’s back, one hand pressed to the small of his spine and the other to the back of his neck.

 

“Don’t know,” he said quietly. “Don’t understand why. There was a girl I knew when I first started. Eleanor. We worked the same bars. She told me what doctor to go to get birth control, y’know, where I could buy rubbers without an Alpha. First, she said to me, I had to be sure of what I was doing. Nobody wants to settle down with a hooker, Buck.”

 

 _“You got a future with somebody in mind, you get outta here, be a nursemaid or cook, steer clear of this life,”_ she’d said. She’d held his hand and touched his cheek and her grip had been like iron, like iron blessed and holy, and it burned in the weight of both their sins. _“‘Cause they don’t want somebody who’s done this, they don’t want somebody who’s been used. Some fresh faces, they’ll tell you you get to keep everything you give, but that ain’t true. You’re gonna give up a piece of you with every dollar and dime you take. You’re gonna be second-hand goods, honey, and you’d better be prepared to stay in the thrift shop.”_

 

Eleanor had deserved somebody like Bucky, to entertain the fanciful idea of stepping off her thrift shop shelf and into wedded bliss. She’d been a saint fallen from grace, she could have walked out and joined a nunnery and the Pope would have blessed her name and the fierce way she loved. She had been murdered three years ago by her childhood sweetheart, the man who’d sworn to marry her one day.

 

So, no, Steve did not understand why Bucky still loved him.

 

“I ain’t settling down with a hooker, am I?” Bucky said then, soft in his ear. Steve half lifted his head, but Bucky kept pressure on the back of his neck and kept his face tucked close. “I’m settling down with an artist. A stubborn asshole. A spy, the one taking down the Third Reich, to boot.”

 

“Don’t kid,” Steve snapped, and Bucky just shook his head and chuckled.

 

“You’re already getting outta this, ain’t you?” Bucky reminded him softly. “I pop Hitler, kill Schmidt slow and painful, and you can start looking for what kinda Oriental rug you want in our sitting room. You change jobs, you don’t keep your old title. You’re leaving this behind.”

 

Bucky kissed the crest of his ear, nuzzled against him lightly. “I’m gonna keep you content, babydoll,” he murmured. “Stock your kitchen with all the fancy shit you want and make up your own studio with big bay windows so you can paint to your heart’s content. I’m gonna keep you fat and happy, Stevie, you ain’t never gonna have to touch another body in your life if you don’t want to.”

 

Steve inhaled, exhaled, and said nothing. _Fat and happy._  God, he’d love to have a future like that.

 

“That includes me, y’know,” Bucky murmured. “You don’t gotta do anything you don’t want to, ever.”

 

Steve inhaled, exhaled, and lifted a hand. He pressed his palm over Bucky’s stomach and pushed it up. Thought about cooking stews and pies, the way Bucky would look at him when he bent over to pull cakes and sheets of cookies out of the oven. Dragged his palm over Bucky’s chest, slowly, until he reached Bucky's collarbones and Steve slid his hand up to cup the back of Bucky’s neck the way he cupped Steve’s. Steve thought about how Bucky would tie his shoes for him if he asked, would look up at him with reverence in his eyes like Steve was something divine, not something picked up from a thrift shop. God, he loved the idea of that future. He shifted his head, nudged his nose against the corded muscles in Bucky’s neck, parted his lips and closed his mouth over Bucky's jaw and swept his tongue over Bucky’s skin. Bucky’s arms tightened abruptly.

 

“Keep telling me,” Steve whispered over the wet skin he’d left. “I’ll believe you one day.”

 

“It’ll be the first thing you hear every morning,” Bucky promised. “Last thing you hear every night. I love you.”

 

And Steve thought about having Bucky’s children. Bucky would look at Steve's swollen belly with pride every day, he thought.

 

“I heard there’s this doctor who tried to make a super soldier for the states,” Steve mumbled. “But he only fixed his test subject’s blood pressure and cured his chronic headaches.”

 

“Marvels of modern medicine,” Bucky agreed faintly.

 

“Bet Peggy can get him to take a look at me,” Steve said, nosing at Bucky’s skin again. He opened his mouth and half-kissed, half-licked a stripe up the side of Bucky’s neck. Up to his jaw, parted his lips and sucked the lobe of Bucky’s ear into his mouth. “Guy can cure blood pressure, he can cure heart defects, anemia, all my shit, I bet.”

 

“I’ll get you the best doctors in the world,” Bucky muttered.

 

“You can get me fat and healthy,” Steve whispered in Bucky's ear. “If ‘m not sick, be safer to carry a baby.”

 

“Best doctors,” Bucky promised. Steve kissed his pulse, found it racing, felt Bucky swallowing. “Best doctors, Stevie.”

 

“Then your kids’ll be mine,” Steve murmured, then started to suck on the skin of Bucky's pulse.

 

“Stevie,” Bucky exhaled.

 

“‘M done for today,” Steve said. “You should get some practice in.”

 

“You sure?” Bucky muttered. “I don’t wanna push –”

 

“Bucky,” Steve interrupted, “take me to bed.”

 

Bucky lifted him by the waist and Steve wrapped his legs around Bucky’s hips. He settled in for the ride, sucking hard on the side of Bucky’s neck. He should have been tense, his crooked spine should have been drawing itself in one long, rigid line, his fingers should have been locking up and his throat should already have been hurting. Steve's spine was lax, his fingers were searching, there was a purr forming in the back of his throat.

 

Bucky was gentle when he laid Steve on the bed, gentle when he kissed him, gentle when he hovered over him and held his waist. Steve’s body ought to have been tense with the scent of an Alpha’s arousal growing in his nose, but he wasn’t.

 

The woodsmoke had already eased away every line of tension in him, it just gained a heady and sharp edge to it.

 

“I love you,” Bucky said, and said it again, and again, said it in between kisses as he made his way down Steve’s neck. “I love you” over the scent gland just under the skin of his neck, “I love you” over the dip of his clavicles, “I love you” over the knot of his throat.

 

With _I love you_ whispered into his skin like a promise, Steve believed it. He so desperately believed it, foolishly and totally. He believed it, in that moment, with the _I love you_ s pressed into every line of his body, even if it would only last for so long. A wise voice in the back of his mind that sounded like Eleanor kept whispering: _Thrift shop._

 

“Forever, angel,” Bucky whispered against his lips. “‘Til the end of the line, ‘s how long I’ll love you.”

 

“You a fucking mind reader or something?” Steve laughed. It tasted bitter in his mouth.

 

“Nan always said I had the touch,” Bucky said, kissed him again, kissed him with reverence. “You want me to stop, tell me, alright, Stevie?”

 

“Alright,” he answered – it didn’t make his throat close or eyes swell, the simple assurance that he had that choice, when every other man just carried on with what they wanted regardless of if it hurt or meant he couldn’t breathe, just carried on to get their money’s worth, the fact that Bucky wanted him to know Steve could say _stop_ and he would didn’t make him even more emotional – “Be gentle?”

 

“Always, sweetheart,” Bucky promised.

 

“Well, maybe not always, I’m sure there’ll come a day when I _want_ to get fucked through the mattress –”

 

Bucky’s lips swallowed the rest of his words, turning them into a muffled moan. “You can tell me then, pretty,” he muttered, “right _now,_  I’d like to take your pants off.”

 

“Do it already,” Steve said quickly.

 

He felt the vibrations of Bucky’s laughter in his bones. A shiver passed down his spine when Bucky pulled his mouth around to his right ear and kept the chuckle going, parting his lips to suck in the crest of his ear and bite gently. Steve tilted his head into the touch, letting out his breath, and when Bucky’s hands, cold but leaving trails of flame, pulled at the waistband of his pants, he just sucked the breath back in.

 

“Where you wanna be?” Bucky asked.

 

“Mmm,” Steve started out – being asked didn’t send a thrill through him, where all the others turned him on his front and pushed his knees forward to get his ass in the air – “my back.”

 

“Sounds good,” Bucky answered, kissing his neck again. “I’ll get to see your face when you come.”

 

Steve let out a whimper.

 

“You’ll be so pretty coming undone, Stevie,” Bucky whispered, “little flush to your cheeks and your ears all red, you gonna throw your head back and whine for me, doll?”

 

“If – if you want,” Steve said, by habit.

 

Bucky’s hands came back up to cup his cheeks, their foreheads touched. “Look at me, sweetheart.”

 

Steve didn’t even know when he had closed his eyes, but he opened them again.

 

“I want to see you in pleasure,” Bucky said. “Nothing more than that matters. Don’t do somethin’ just ‘cause you think I want it.”

 

“Okay,” Steve mumbled, and that was that. Bucky kissed him again, slid his hands down his front until they caught the hem of his shirt. For a second, they lingered there, and Steve lifted his head a little.

 

“You want this on or off?” Bucky asked him softly.

 

The bruises on Steve's body took their time in fading.

 

“Off,” Steve said after a moment. Bucky could replace them with marks made in love.

 

Bucky peeled the shirt off and framed his ribs in both hands. He dropped his head and closed his mouth over one of Steve’s nipples.

 

“Ah!”

 

“Like that, babydoll?” Bucky chuckled.

 

“Yes,” Steve exhaled.

 

Bucky licked and sucked at it for a while, his fingers playing with the other, then he switched. Steve felt like he was on fire, there was slick coating the insides of his thighs, and Bucky hadn’t even _touched_ him below the waist yet.

 

“Buck,” he whined, “c’mon, ‘m not getting any younger here.”

 

“But these little babies are so delicious,” Bucky murmured against his skin. “Like playin’ with your tits, baby.”

 

“Buck,” he whined harder. He half lifted his hips off the bed, trying to get his point across.

 

“Alright, alright, lemme get undressed, will ya?”

 

Steve picked his head up, lifted his hands, he’d completely forgotten about Bucky’s clothes, and knocked Bucky’s hand away from where they were undoing the buttons of his shirt. He bit his tongue, trying to keep his hands steady, undid the buttons one by one. When he glanced up, Bucky was looking straight at him.

 

His pupils had blown wide, blocking out the irises with barely a ring of gray-blue left. Steve was struck by a very sudden, very familiar feeling, of seeing that before, of being the cause of it. _“You don’t look good, either. Your pupils are all big.”_

 

At fourteen, he hadn’t recognized the signs and scents of arousal. At twenty-six, he’d thought they’d never affect him again.

 

Steve undid the final button and shoved the shirt away until he could get to Bucky’s skin, then he slid his arms around him and clung hard while he surged up to kiss Bucky’s mouth. His Alpha pressed down and kissed back with the increasing hunger of a man half out of his clothes. Steve’s fingers were less confident on Bucky’s belt, but he got it open and yanked down the zipper of his fly. Then there were his boxers, and then Bucky’s naked weight hung over his.

 

Bucky’s hand covered his hip, his legs slotted between Steve’s thighs. “Ready?”

 

“Was born ready, Barnes,” Steve said, just to be difficult.

 

Bucky gave him a grin and a kiss that made him giggle, out of the pure infectiousness of Bucky’s mirth. “You’re a pill,” he said.

 

“You’re still gonna swallow me,” Steve answered. He liked being difficult. He’d never known that, never had the chance to explore mouthing off or complaining like this. It wasn’t profitable.

 

Bucky flicked an eyebrow up, lips curling in a thoughtful smile. “Now, there’s an idea.”

 

Before Steve could gather what he meant, Bucky had his mouth on him. Steve let out a gasp and threw his head back, squeezed his eyes shut, curled his fingers in Bucky’s hair. Nobody had ever sucked _him_ off before, then Bucky’s fingers were breaching him, slow, just one at a time, and everything was just so – _so,_  Steve was sure he would be finished just from that.

 

“Bucky,” he breathed, “Buck, you gotta – ‘m gonna – you gotta stop –”  


Bucky was up and off in a second, hovering over him, all worried eyes and downturned frown. Steve didn’t like that, so he kissed it away. “Was gonna come. Wanna come from you in me,” he said against his mouth. “You’re too good.”

 

The worried look vanished, and Bucky let out a low sound, deep in his throat, a pleased, growling hum. “Oh, yeah?”

 

“Yeah,” Steve said, giggling again, he couldn’t help it, “so stick it in me, already.”

 

“I need a rubber?”

 

For a second, Steve swallowed, then shook his head. Condoms were for clients, not lovers.

 

“No,” he said. "I really can't get pregnant." He couldn’t bear the thought of Bucky feeling like a client. “Hop to it, Barnes.”

 

Bucky’s next kiss for him bordered on an attack, but still managed to be gentle. His fingers came back before his cock, working him open just a little more, then –

 

“ _Bucky!_ ”

 

“Steve, Stevie, _fuck_ –”

 

It was heaven.

 

“Hng, _move,_  you bastard – _Ah!_ ” 

 

“Yeah, like that, sugar?”

 

“Buck!”  


“You forgetting how to talk, doll?”

 

“Yeah, you got me, Buck – lil’ faster, c’mon, I won’t break.”

 

“I move much faster, I ain’t gonna last long enough, sugar, you’re _perfect,_  babydoll, all hot and tight –”

 

Steve had died and gone to heaven.

 

“Huh, uh! That’s it, there!”

 

“– should’ve opened you up a bit more –”

 

“Don’t you dare slow down now, Bucky Barnes, I will – I’ll – _mmm_ …”

 

“You’ll what, baby? Finish yourself off?”

 

“Oh, you’d like to see that, wouldn’t you?”

 

“Fuck – Steve –”

 

 _Bucky_ sounded like he’d died and gone to heaven.

 

“Yeah, like that, fuck me like that, Buck –”

 

“Fuck, fuck, ‘m gonna –”

 

“ – knot me, fuck, get me fat, Bucky –”

 

“ _Fuck,_  Stevie, _fuck!_ ”

 

“ _Bucky_ –”

 

They’d both died and gone to heaven. Bucky dropped onto Steve’s chest, licking at his scent gland, while Steve still reeled from the aftershocks of the orgasm. Every pass of Bucky’s tongue started it all over again, left him far somewhere out of his head for what felt like days; he could have fallen asleep like that, Bucky’s knot locking them together and Steve awash in the glow.

 

“Stevie? You there?”

 

“Mmm,” was all he said.

 

Bucky chuckled, vibrations shook through his scent gland and rocked the boat a little more again. He felt dizzy, even.

 

“‘S good practice,” Steve managed a while later. “Gonna have to work hard to top it.”

 

Bucky kissed his scent gland one more time, then lifted his lips to catch Steve’s mouth. “I’ll do my best.”

 

Steve settled back on the pillows, content and warm, though Bucky’s weight was getting a bit much. He pushed at his chest lightly, but when Bucky shifted, Steve winced at the pull of his still swollen knot.

 

“Sorry,” Bucky mumbled quickly, “hang on –”

 

He pushed both arms under Steve, pulled him tight, then flipped them over as quick as he could. Steve still winced and Bucky still flinched in sympathy, but it was better now that he was lying on his side, one leg flung over Bucky’s hip. Though now his back was exposed and the draft of the apartment chilled his skin. He pressed close to Bucky’s warmth, hardly noticed Bucky shimmying carefully until the blanket was pulled over him. He let out a little hum, tucked closer under Bucky’s chin, until his nose was pressed against Bucky’s neck and the scent gland buried a little deeper under the skin than Steve’s was.

 

A thoughtful hand touched to the side of his neck.

 

“For a minute there, I thought you might bite me,” he said softly.

 

Bucky nosed gently at his hair. “Wanted to talk about it first.”

 

Steve swallowed, nodded. Thrift shop, he remembered. He was second-hand goods.

 

“Wanted to make sure you wanted it, too.”

 

He’d live life on a shelf –

 

Steve opened his eyes and tilted his head back to squint at Bucky, who looked half asleep.

 

“You saying you want it?”

 

“‘Course,” Bucky mumbled, then he yawned and went to nuzzle at his hair again, only Steve had moved his head and Bucky ended up nuzzling air. He opened his eyes and squinted at Steve in return, though with more sleepiness than suspicion. Steve didn’t feel very tired all of a sudden. Saying _I love you_ was one thing. A bond was another. Bonds were permanent, they couldn’t be broken without a lot of hurt and even worse heartache, and Bucky would never to that to him, Steve believed that easily. If Bucky wanted a _bond,_  that meant he wanted forever, really wanted it, and _forever_ forever –

 

“Do you want it?" Bucky asked. "We don’t have t–”

 

Steve shut him up with a kiss. “Duh,” he said eventually. Bucky hummed happily and Steve drank it up, giddy at the thought of _forever_ forever. He’d get to have a permanent mark, a scar that declared him forever _Bucky’s,_ not just a toy people picked up off the shelf at their local thrift shop, not just something people borrowed and played with for an hour before handing it off to the next person, _Bucky’s,_  he’d smell like him forever –

 

But not yet. When Steve’s lips slowed, Bucky pulled back to look at him, though Steve dropped his head against Bucky’s chin.

 

A finger knocked against his chin. He sniffed, suddenly, remembering being five and having scraped his knee and being six and busted his lip for the first time and being seven and bloodied up his knuckles and wrist sprained from punching somebody wrong. Being twelve and getting laughed at by the other kids at school for being small and being thirteen and Dorcas Fleming saying she’d sit with him at lunch only for her and her friends to dump a pail of water on his head and being fourteen and weak at the knees for what he didn’t then know.

 

Bucky’s index finger lingered on his chin, his thumb sweeping over to grip it lightly. “Hey, look at me, sweetheart. ‘S the matter, angel? Tell me so I can make it better.”

 

“You have to wait,” Steve mumbled. “Until this is over.”

 

“Oh,” Bucky said. Like he hadn’t thought of that. “Oh. Yeah. Right.”

 

He’d have to wait, like so many other things, until they’d gotten away and Hitler was dead and Schmidt was far behind them both. Until then, Steve would be passed from person to person, set back on the shelf at the thrift shop, picked up and turned over and examined and set aside again, and Bucky would just have to press his nose against the window, watch the paying customers pass him around and wait for his turn. They’d have to wait.

 

Bucky kissed his forehead. “It’ll be okay. We can make it a few weeks. Boat’s coming after Christmas, first week of January, right? ‘S not that far away.”

 

“I don’t wanna wait,” Steve whispered, almost a whine, sick and miserable with his spot in the thrift store, he wanted out. Bucky tightened his arms around him. “I wanna be yours.”

 

“Baby, you’ll always be mine, babydoll, always.”

 

“I want it to be obvious. I don’t wanna do this any longer.”

 

Bucky kissed his forehead a second time, nuzzled his temple, slid a hand up to cup the back of his neck comfortingly. “Just a couple of weeks, babydoll. Not long at all.”

 

Steve swallowed hard and tried to nod. Tried to let Bucky convince him. The sudden prospect of a _real_ forever, a concrete and unbreakable one; that made two or three weeks feel like the forever he would be waiting to get.

 

“I’ll keep telling you I love you every few minutes, Stevie, keep reminding you we can bond as soon as this is over, until you get tired of hearing it.”

 

“I’d never tire of hearing it,” Steve mumbled.

 

Bucky kissed his hair. “I’ll keep telling you anyway.”

 

“Please,” Steve said, and Bucky nodded.

 

“I promise. Swear to God, swear on _your_ ma.”

 

“My ma,” Steve laughed suddenly. “God, she’d be happy to see this now. She always said you’d come back for me.”

 

Bucky went quiet for a while and Steve wondered if he’d said something wrong. Then:

 

“Something happen to her?”

 

Steve swallowed again and realized he hadn’t said what had put him in the business he was in in the first place.

 

“Consumption,” he admitted.

 

“Oh,” Bucky murmured.

 

“I… I couldn’t afford a proper grave for her.”

 

“We’ll move her, Steve. Put her next to your dad.”

 

Steve pressed closer, smiling a little at the thought. “She’d like that.”

 

“‘M sorry I wasn’t here.”

 

“Quit apologizing for it,” Steve said. “Not like you knew any better.”

 

He didn’t ask if Bucky’s ma was still alive and well. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to know. He was less sure if he even cared, and that scared him a little. So he ignored the thought, focused on how enveloped and safe he felt, how Bucky’s knot, though deflating, still locked them together and made it all a bit better. He wondered if Bucky would even pull out once his knot had gone down; usually, they did, but Bucky had always done the exact opposite of the others that night.

 

Steve fell asleep not long later. Bucky didn’t pull out. As he drifted into dreams, Bucky murmured against his hair another _I love you._


	6. Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _i have no witty comments and we're gonna blame mondays okay leggo_

**_[_ ** **Meet Roger Smith; Pentagon Declassifies Captain America Files** **_, Jay M. Brunt for The Washington Post, March 24th, 2008]_ **

 

_“...When I was fourteen, my American History teacher gave a lecture on the importance of Captain America to the turning of the war in 1945. I remember sitting in the back of the class, listening, taking notes, and having an abrupt question. I raised my hand and asked, but Mr. Silverton didn’t have an answer for me. It struck me as odd then, and looking at the files now, it strikes me as downright peculiar._

_“The question was ‘_ How did Captain America know where to be? _’ Simple as that. What told him to be in that particular building on that particular day, looking at that particular dock and waiting for that particular ship? Up until yesterday, there had been no answer whatsoever. According to the books, Captain America showed up, shot Hitler, and then died._

_“That was until yesterday when the Pentagon released several files regarding the assassination of Adolf Hitler. Namely, reports drawn up by Agent Margaret Carter, the chief SSR agent who worked with Captain America to secure the assassination. How did she know where to send the sniper?_

_“The answer lies in a male Omega who gave his name only as Roger Smith, a prostitute under the control of the Nazi regime…”_

 

*

**[december 24th, 1944]**

 

What kind of men spent Christmas Eve with a hooker instead of their families? Bucky couldn’t get that thought out of his head from the minute Steve’s first client arrived at eight on the morning of Christmas Eve. What sort of people did this?

 

By the time he heard the shower, it was past nine and Bucky hadn’t seen Steve at all during the day. He’d left tea and water and dry crackers for Bucky in the morning, had asked through the door if he wanted anything more around two, but Bucky hadn’t been hungry. He doubted that Steve had eaten anything either; no matter Bucky’s efforts, Steve’s ribs stayed sharp.

 

Just a few more days, he kept reminding himself. Hitler’s boat would be arriving any day now, with January rapidly approaching and the month the trip would have taken coming to a close. Any day now, Bucky would have his chance to take out the Führer, then Steve would be safe. At that point, Bucky didn’t give a damn about anything else, if killing Hitler turned the tide of the war or not, doing it would mean their cover didn’t need to stay secure any longer. It would mean he could kill _Schmidt_ and Steve could gain weight again, let alone everything else the son of a bitch was doing to him. Damn the war. Damn the streets full of people who spent Christmas Eve with prostitutes. Damn it, Bucky only cared about getting Steve safe now.

 

And if there were just a few more days before Hitler’s boat, at any second the pimp himself was due to check in with Steve. Bucky wasn’t sure what he would do when that happened, it would take every ounce of self-control he possessed not to jump Schmidt outright and destroy any chance they had at Hitler. It scared him some, how little he cared for the war anymore. He didn’t give a damn if it wasn’t to save Steve.

 

Absently, he wondered if that made him selfish. Even more absently, he wondered if that made him any less an obsessed monster than before.

 

The shower cut off in the distance. Bucky heard water dripping onto tile. The bathroom door opening and closing. The tub in the kitchen, and Bucky finally pushed himself to an upright position. His leg was healing quickly, but it still hurt like hell to put weight on it. His feet touched the floor, he held onto the bed frame to stand up. A knock sounded at the front door.

 

Bucky stilled. He heard Steve put down the washboard, walk from the kitchen to the front door. The locks, chains, and bolts slid open.

 

“Guten abend, Herr Smith.”

 

“Guten abend.”

 

Bucky pressed his ear to the door, heart hammering, hardly able to breathe. Footsteps crossed the threshold, the front door shut again and the locks clicked. Bucky found his hand was at the lock of the door, about to twist, and he jerked it away.

 

“Fire escape?” he heard Steve say. Bucky paused.

 

“Yeah. Figured it was better to switch.”

 

“You get it, I’ll let him out.”

 

Bucky hastily stepped back as Steve’s voice neared. The lock turned and Steve opened the door, immediately turning a frown on him.

 

“What are you doing up?” he fussed, crossing forward to wrap an arm around him, like his matchstick frame could support Bucky’s weight. “You’re meant to be resting.”

 

“Whatever,” Bucky mumbled, hastily turning Steve’s attempt to support him into a hug. “Who’s here?”

 

“Howard and Peggy,” Steve mumbled. Bucky set his hands at Steve’s shoulders, working his fingers lightly at the kinks in his muscles. “Mmm, ‘s nice.”  


“Don’t fall asleep on me, doll,” Bucky said, making Steve chuckle. “C’mon, they didn’t come to take a nap.”

 

“Shh,” Steve mumbled admonishingly, “gimme a minute. Howard’s still letting Peggy in.”

 

“Howard’s let Peggy in,” came a second voice. Bucky lifted his gaze to catch the eye of Howard Stark, standing just past the doorway. Agent Carter stood behind him, the both of them watching warily.

 

“Hmph,” Steve said. He lifted his head from Bucky’s chest and turned around. “C’mon, come sit out here.”  


Bucky let Steve act like a crutch, though he was careful not to lean too much weight on him, into the sitting room and towards the sofa and his chair. Bucky aimed for his armchair, but Steve gave him a tug when he neared it, pulling him away.

 

“Not there,” he mumbled.

 

Bucky glanced at it, then at Steve, who was looking at the floor. He let Steve pull him to the sofa, dropped onto it and grasped Steve’s hand before he could step back. He flicked his eyebrows up at him, and Steve raised one in return. Bucky rolled his eyes, then tugged Steve onto the sofa and pulled him into his lap, planting his ass on his good leg. Steve let out a startled noise, but then laughed and curled against his shoulder.

 

“You two look chummy,” Howard remarked.

 

“More so than when we left,” Agent Carter added. She’d taken a chair from the kitchen, but went back for a second when Bucky pulled Steve onto the sofa with him. “I don’t suppose you would like to explain what had you so bothered, Jim?”

 

“Stuff,” Bucky muttered. He crossed his arms over Steve’s waist. “We talked it out.”

 

“Yep,” Steve confirmed. “We’re fine.”

 

“Fine?” Howard said questioningly. “You seemed like you were going to bite his head off last time.”

 

“Nah,” Steve told him, looking up now. “Just… Some things that happened a long time ago.”

 

Agent Carter dropped into one of the chairs, crossed her arms over her stomach, and raised an eyebrow at Bucky. “To be honest, I wasn’t sure we’d find you still here. I thought you’d run off.”

 

“He couldn’t run half a foot on that leg,” Steve said.

 

“Which you’re sitting on,” Howard said snarkily.

 

Steve lifted his knees, showing Bucky’s still bandaged thigh. “I’m sitting on his good thigh, dumbass.”

 

Howard raised both eyebrows. “Sure.”

 

Agent Carter was still looking at him with a hard glint in her eye. Bucky met her gaze evenly.

 

“I’ve grown quite fond of Steven,” she said. Bucky waited for her to finish. “Now, if what he said was true, and you were, at one point, his Alpha, I’d have to say I don’t trust his judgment to be clear on whether or not you’re good for him.”

 

“Peggy,” Steve interrupted; Agent Carter held up a finger to him.

 

“You said something before we left,” she continued. “You said, you didn’t want to force yourself on Steven _again._  Have you done it again?”

 

“Never,” Bucky swore.

 

“And he didn’t actually do that before,” Steve snapped. “He was confused.”

 

Agent Carter raised her eyebrows. She didn’t look away from Bucky.

 

“And, I can look out for myself,” Steve added.

 

“Can you promise you’ll be good for him?” Agent Carter asked Bucky.

 

“No,” Bucky said. Steve glared at him. “But I can try my best.”

 

“He’s always been good for me,” Steve inserted.

 

“Clearly, he was not good for you a few weeks ago,” Agent Carter said sharply, finally looking away from Bucky.

 

“Peggy, he wants to bond me,” Steve said.

 

“Not yet, I hope,” Howard threw in. Bucky shot him a look.

 

“Steven, you were very upset –”

 

“He had right to be,” Bucky snapped.

 

Agent Carter turned a full glare on him, then. “What even did you _do?_  How can you be sure it won’t happen again?”

 

“He thought he did something, which he didn’t come near close to doing, but he thought he did so he ran away, alright?” Steve said before Bucky could speak. “But he wants to bond me, Peggy. I believe that he won’t leave me again.”

 

“Never again,” Bucky swore, catching Steve’s jaw with a gentle hand and bringing his face towards his. Steve leaned their foreheads together.

 

“What did you do?” Howard’s voice floated their way. “Or think you did, I s’pose.”

 

“Nothin’,” Steve said. Bucky shut his eyes with a sigh, ‘cause that wasn’t true. Wasn’t close to truth. “Nothing that matters now.”

 

He heard Howard snort, then after a minute, Steve lifted his head and turned it away. Bucky opened his eyes again.

 

“Did you come here just to interrogate Buck or have you got something to tell us?”

 

“Wait, hang on, who?” Howard said while Agent Carter sighed heavily. “You mean Jim? What kinda nickname is Buck?”

 

“His name’s Bucky,” Steve said defensively.

 

“My name was Bucky,” Bucky mumbled. Steve turned to look at him.

 

“What?”

 

“Was,” Bucky repeated. “Picked up Jim when I left Brooklyn.”

 

“Oh,” Steve exhaled. He blinked a couple of times. “Should –”

 

“No, doll, you keep callin’ me Bucky,” he said, sweeping a thumb over Steve’s cheek and offering him a smile. “You’re the one who named me that to start with, anyway.”

 

Steve blinked a few more times. Howard demanded: “What kinda nickname is Bucky?”

 

“‘S for his middle name,” Steve said, though he didn’t look away from Bucky.

 

“Buchanan,” Bucky added.

 

“James Buchanan Barnes. That’s a mouthful,” Howard announced.

 

Steve shot a glare in Howard’s direction while Bucky rolled his eyes. “Did you come here to interrogate him or what?”

 

“Honest, just to check up on you,” Howard said with a shrug.

 

“Has Schmidt come back yet?” Agent Carter asked.

 

“No,” Steve answered. “He’s late.”

 

“Maybe that’s a good sign?” Howard suggested. “Landlord’s said nothing to you?”

 

Steve shook his head. “Not a word.”

 

Howard and Agent Carter exchanged glances. Howard raised an eyebrow, Agent Carter blew out her breath.

 

“We’re hoping,” Agent Carter said. She turned back to face them, her eyes landing on Bucky’s again, without malice this time. “Let’s just go over the plan again, then. Hitler should be arriving any day now, my other contacts say the Nazis are prepping the harbor and the train is already ready for him. I’d give it no more than two weeks.”

 

Bucky nodded.

 

“The ship will dock at the Navy Yard, at the main docks," Agent Carter explained. "There are abandoned factories and offices surrounding the dock, and thanks to our dummy bases, the Nazis think the resistance is all but wiped out, they haven’t bothered touching those buildings. You’ll be set up in one of the buildings near the harbor’s edge.”

 

“What am I shooting with?” Bucky asked.

 

“1941 Johnson,” Howard answered. “One I’ve taken some personal touches to.”

 

Bucky gave a second nod. “I’ll need a full clip.”

 

“You’ll have to take Hitler down with one shot,” Agent Carter said with raised eyebrows.

 

“Not for him,” Bucky said. He’d take out both of Schmidt’s kneecaps before dragging him off to kill him slow and painful.

 

Agent Carter flicked her eyebrows higher, then turned her eyes on Steve. “After Hitler is dead, you’ll receive your compensation and I’ll ensure you are moved to a safe location until a permanent home can be found.”

 

“I’m staying with him,” Bucky intercepted.

 

“Will you?” Agent Carter repeated breezily. “Fine. Better to keep him safe, I suppose.”

 

“How much?” Steve asked.

 

Agent Carter’s lips curled into a smile. “Colonel Phillips and I discussed it at length, and we’ve come to agree on a sum of fifteen thousand US dollars.”

 

Bucky’s jaw dropped. “Fifteen –?”

 

“I wanted to give you twenty, but _he_ wanted to give you five, so we came to a compromise,” Agent Carter added smugly.

 

“Peggy,” Steve said, sounding all a bit overwhelmed. “I – That’s – Wow…”

 

Agent Carter’s smile softened on him. “Just say thank you, darling.”

 

“Thank you,” Steve answered, grinning. He looked at Bucky, then abruptly grabbed his face and kissed him firmly. Bucky couldn’t help but smile into the kiss, reaching up to cup Steve’s neck. “Fifteen thousand,” Steve breathed when they pulled back, their foreheads still touching.

 

“Start thinkin’ about what kinds of wallpaper you want, babydoll,” Bucky murmured.

 

“Blue with white flowers,” Steve answered instantly.

 

Bucky laughed, then caught his lips in another kiss. After pulling back a second time, Bucky nuzzled his cheek lightly and dropped his hands to Steve’s waist.

 

“Hey, Peg?” Steve added.

 

“Hmm?”

 

“You know that German doctor? The one that tried to make the US a super soldier?”

 

“Erskine?" Agent Carter said. "I’ve met him a few times.”

 

Bucky grinned into Steve’s neck.

 

“Do you think he could try his serum on me? Since it only made the test subject healthier?”

 

“I’m sure Dr. Erskine would be happy to help you,” Agent Carter answered.

 

Bucky kissed Steve’s cheek, catching a sunshine bright smile from his Omega. “How many bedrooms you want, doll?”

 

“Hmm,” Steve began thoughtfully, tapping his chin, “four and a guest room. Maybe five.”

 

Bucky flicked his eyebrows up, lips curled in a smirk. “Five and a guest room. I think we can manage that.”

 

Steve giggled, smiling bright and shiny like a beam of holy light right from the hand of God, and Bucky kissed his cheek again.

 

“I think we’re missing something,” Howard’s voice reached them.

 

“I assume so,” Agent Carter mused.

 

Just a few weeks, two at the most. They could make it that far.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _this is your promise of an eventual happy ending. if you liked this, leave me a comment, comments make my day better. i just added the final chapter of **Kept Boy** and that fic is a wild ride. anyway, i'll see you next week with the next chapter._
> 
> _side note, americans, **GO VOTE TOMORROW PLEASE SAVE US FROM AN ALL REPUBLICAN CONGRESS**_


	7. Six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warnings for this chapter** : graphic violence, abusive language, rape/non-con, vomiting. the non-con scene is marked off with _[]_ at the beginning and end. reader discretion is strongly advised.

**_[_ ** **Top Five Conspiracy Theories of the 20th Century** **_, uploaded to_ ** [ **_Top5s_ ** ](https://www.youtube.com/user/TheTop5ss/featured) **_on YouTube, September 23rd, 2012]_ **

 

_“…Number three: Captain America never actually died. In January of 1945, Captain James Barnes famously assassinated Adolf Hitler, Dr. Johann Schmidt, and others, but was then killed by Nazi officers when he tried to escape the scene. But what if he wasn’t? There are always rumors about famous deaths being false, but Captain America’s is one of the most questionable in history. To start, there was never any body. The official report claims that the Nazis took his body after they killed him, presumably so that Dr. Arnim Zola could resume experimenting on him, but even after all the Nazi labs and bases in New York and the surrounding Nazi territory were dismantled, Captain Barnes’s body was never found. His coffin in Arlington is empty to this day…”_

 

*

**[december 31st, 1944]**

 

Schmidt was overdue.

 

He should have come a week earlier, but there was no sign of him. Steve kept checking the peephole, even when there was no knock, and, still, there was no sign of him. He didn’t know what to think of that. On the one hand, not seeing Schmidt was a relief, on the other…

 

He would make up for the lateness with violence. He always did.

 

His last client of the day left at five o’clock, giving him a cheery wave as he left. Steve smiled falsely back, closed the door behind him and started doing up the locks. He was on edge and wanted a shower; he felt gross, there was coconut oil and cum coating his back and legs under his clothes. He wanted to wash it off and crawl into bed with Bucky and sleep for a week.

 

His hand was at the final chain when a heavy knock sounded. Steve started, pressed a hand to his heart and exhaled forcefully before checking the peephole.

 

The landlord was standing outside. Steve’s mouth went dry.

 

He unlocked the door, leaving the chains on, and opened it.

 

“Five thirty,” the landlord announced. “He wants you waiting.”

 

“Thank you,” Steve mumbled.

 

The landlord nodded, turned away, and left. Steve shut the door. His fingers shook when he redid the locks.

 

Steve leaned against the door, trying to control his breathing. Five thirty, the clock on the mantle read four past, he had twenty-six minutes to prepare. He’d have to shower quickly, just get himself clean and ignore the scents coating his body. The living room would need to be cleaned, Schmidt hated dust. And Bucky –

 

Steve’s chest tightened at that thought. Bucky, what was Bucky going to do? Steve would lock the bedroom, Schmidt never cared to leave the living room, but would Bucky be able to keep silent throughout the night? Schmidt was going to start on Steve the second he walked in, could Steve trust Bucky to just stay silent?

 

Could Steve manage not to scream?

 

His hands shook when he unlocked the bedroom door. Bucky sat up at the sight of him and held out his hands.

 

Steve trembled in the doorway.

 

“Stevie,” Bucky murmured. “C’mere.”

 

“Schmidt’s coming,” Steve said. He didn’t move.

 

Bucky’s jaw tightened. He swung his legs off the bed and crossed the floor to him, held out his arms again. Steve wanted to step into them, but he was disgusting; he couldn't touch Bucky like this, with another man’s semen covering his body. Steve drew back. After a second, Bucky dropped his hands and Steve hugged himself, trying to think.

 

“You have to stay in here,” he said.

 

“I know,” Bucky muttered.

 

“You can’t come out,” Steve said, shaking his head, his whole body. “No matter what you hear, you have to stay in here. Promise?”

 

Bucky’s gaze was hot looking at Steve, his face impassive. “What am I going to hear?” he asked quietly.

 

Steve bit at his lip, then shook his head. “Just… Promise," he insisted. "Only a little longer, right? Schmidt’s bound to tell me when the boat’s coming in, it won’t be much longer until Hitler’s here and you can kill him.”

 

Who was he trying to convince?

 

“What am I going to hear, Steve?” Bucky repeated.

 

“I – Please, just promise,” Steve said.

 

“What does he do to you?” Bucky demanded, eyes and voice dark, Steve bit his lip harder, trying to think of words to say that wouldn’t make Bucky refuse to stay hidden. “Steve,” Bucky said again, then: “Tell me.”

 

“He’ll hit me, probably,” Steve answered, avoiding Bucky's gaze.

 

“I’ve seen the bruises,” Bucky growled. “Tell me what I’m going to hear, Steve.”

 

“Just –” Steve said.

 

“Steve –” Bucky cut him off.

 

“You can’t –” Steve tried.

 

“I can’t do nothing!” Bucky snapped.

 

“You have to!” Steve insisted.

 

Bucky pressed his mouth into a thin line. “What does he do?” he demanded.

 

“It doesn’t matter,” Steve tried to say. “Just, promise you won’t break your cover.”

 

“The hell with cover!” Bucky spat. “I can’t sit by and do nothing if you’re getting hurt, Steve!”

 

“How do you think I feel?” snapped Steve, and Bucky deflated somewhat. Steve took a deep breath, but his voice still shook as he went on. “This is bigger than the two of us," he said. "This is the whole of America, our freedom, the cusp of the whole damn war! Schmidt’s not another bully, he’s my source," Steve pressed carefully, "and without him, we can’t get to Hitler, you can’t get to Hitler!”

 

“The hell with Hitler,” Bucky hissed.

 

Steve grabbed the door handle, to hold himself steady while he glared down Bucky. “I care about the war,” he said. “I’m just one of the dozens Schmidt owns, you think I haven’t thought about going out the window and vanishing? You think I haven’t thought about killing him myself? But where would everyone else be, where would the rest of the world be if I did that? Without Schmidt, we can’t take out Hitler –”

 

“I don’t care about the war anymore, Steve, I care about you!” Bucky snapped.

 

“I don’t care about me!” Steve shot back. “I can’t let you break your cover! Promise me!”

 

Bucky clenched his fists and his jaw, then jerkily shoved out his arms, face still set in a glare. Steve blinked at him, but Bucky waved his hands, and Steve realized Bucky was trying to get Steve to come to him.

 

Steve turned his head so he didn’t have to look at Bucky’s face, then shut the door.

 

He was dirty, physically and symbolically. He didn’t want to touch Bucky with that filth on him.

 

He showered, and when he came out, the clock read twenty past five. Steve looked between the door and the bedroom. If he screamed, Bucky would come to save him, even if Steve didn’t want him to. If Bucky came out, if he attacked Schmidt, they’d lose their chance.

 

Steve had lasted this long. He’d worked too hard to get to where they were, had endured too much, to let Bucky’s love throw the end of the war away

 

Steve took ropes and a gag from the second bedroom. He held them behind his back when he entered his bedroom. Bucky looked up the second he stepped inside, and Steve moved quickly so Bucky didn’t notice, climbed onto his lap and kissing him. Bucky’s hands flew to Steve's back, cupped the back of his neck, he kissed him hungrily, but Steve had intent. He took one of Bucky’s hands, then the other, held them both above Bucky’s head, like he was pinning them on the pillows, then grabbed the rope.

 

Bucky pulled back from the kiss when Steve started tying his wrists together. Steve didn’t look at him; he just tied the rope around Bucky's wrists quickly and tightly.

 

“What are you doing, Steve?” Bucky asked.

 

“I’m sorry,” Steve murmured. He pushed Bucky down, grabbed more rope and started tying his arms to the bed frame. Bucky struggled against them, Steve pressed his weight harder onto Bucky’s body.

 

“Steve," Bucky said, "don’t do this –”

 

“You can’t come after him,” Steve hissed, “you’re going to want to and I can’t let you.”

 

“Sweetheart, please –” Bucky broke in desperately.

 

“I can’t let you,” Steve insisted hoarsely. He was crying, when had he started crying?

 

Bucky strained against the ropes, but Steve had tied the knots tightly. He knew just how to loop them to keep the strongest man from breaking free. He shifted on Bucky’s lap, slipped off of him and started tying his knees together.

 

“Stevie, what’s Schmidt gonna do?" Bucky asked in a thick tone. "Baby, what’s he gonna do to you?”

 

“I can’t let you come after him,” Steve kept repeating; he tied Bucky’s ankles to the footboard and the knots were wet from his tears.

 

“Baby, baby, don’t do this," Bucky begged Steve, "what’s he gonna do?”

 

Steve grabbed the gag and pulled it over Bucky’s head. “You can’t come out,” he whispered.

 

Bucky strained harder. “Steve," he begged, "no, no, don’t –”

 

Steve bent down and kissed Bucky again, then tugged the gag over his mouth and tightened it. “You can’t save me,” he murmured, pressing their foreheads together. “You’ve got to save everyone else first, Buck.”

 

Bucky strained against the ropes, against the gag, and a heavy knock sounded outside the apartment. Steve pressed his lips to Bucky’s forehead, slipped off the bed and removed his shirt on his way to the door. He heard Bucky mumbling against the gag, but when Steve shut and locked the door, the noise was cut off. The walls between each bedroom were thin, but between the living room and the bedrooms, they were insulated enough to keep whatever sound Bucky made struggling inside. Not enough to keep Bucky from hearing anything that happened in the living room. Only enough that Schmidt wouldn’t hear Bucky.

 

Steve swept roughly at his cheeks, then turned to answer the door. Schmidt wouldn’t knock a second time.

 

He undid the locks and chains without checking the peephole. The clock over the mantle read five thirty.

 

“Guten abend, haustier,” Doctor Schmidt said with cruel glee.

 

 _Good evening, pet,_ he’d said, but not really. He’d said _haustier,_ as in an animal. He’d made sure Steve knew the distinction.

 

“Guten abend, Alpha,” Steve mumbled, looking at the ground.

 

Schmidt’s hand closed on Steve's shoulder, heavy and cold. Steve was pushed backwards and Schmidt shut the door behind himself with his foot. Steve kept his gaze on the ground, _Omegas do not look at their masters, haustier,_ until Schmidt’s fist moved to his throat and closed over it. Steve looked up, at Schmidt’s mouth, not his eyes, while Schmidt smiled and squeezed his throat.

 

“Ich hoffe du hast an deinem Deutsch gearbeitet,” Schmidt said to him. Steve wheezed, trying to inhale. “Lass uns sehen. Wenn du verstehst, nicke oder schüttle deinen Kopf und ich lasse dich atmen.”

 

Steve’s head swam, his eyes watered, he choked as his brain tried to process the words without oxygen. Schmidt wanted him to speak German, not English, he did this every time, quizzed Steve’s skill while choking him or hitting him, something, Steve couldn’t think, he couldn’t breathe.

 

“Kannst du nicht denken?” Schmidt asked him, squeezing harder.

 

 _Kannst_ … Can? _Kannst du,_ can you? Steve choked, his hands curled into fists at his side and shook, but if he tried to pull away, Schmidt would choke him harder. Could Steve what? _Nicht_ was not, what was _denken?_

 

Steve shook his head, hoping that was the right answer.

 

“Gut,” Schmidt said, and relaxed his hold on Steve’s throat. He gasped, sucked in the air greedily, just for Schmidt’s fingers to tighten again. “Hast du geübt?”

 

 _Hast du_ was did you, or have you, Steve wasn’t sure, _geübt_ was… Was…

 

Schmidt shook him a little, then his feet were lifting off the floor and Steve’s toes jerked to regain contact with it. “Ich habe dir eine frage gestellt. Hast du geübt, schlampe?”

 

 _Schlampe_ meant bitch. _Frage_ , question _,_ _Ich habe dir,_ I have something, or I did something. Steve’s vision flickered at the corners, Schmidt’s face swam in and out of view. He couldn’t remember what _geübt_ meant, _Ich habe dir eine frage gestellt_ was I asked you a question, but what was _geübt?_

 

Schmidt shook Steve by the throat again, then his nose wrinkled in distaste and he flung Steve to the floor. Steve hit it hard; he felt his ribs creak and his head slammed against the ground, his neck cracked sickeningly in his head. He coughed and gasped, and Schmidt walked closer to peer down his nose at Steve.

 

“Did you practice?” Schmidt asked him coldly.

 

Practice, Steve thought blearily. _Geübt_ was practice.

 

Schmidt knelt down beside him and Steve went very still, looking at Schmidt’s feet, he hadn’t been given permission to look him in the eye. “You are supposed to be intelligent, little pet,” he said sadly. “If you cannot remember your words when you cannot breathe for just a few seconds, what good are you?”

 

Steve bit his lip, hard, to keep silent. Schmidt sighed, reached out to pat his cheek tenderly, then backhanded him, even harder. His head jerked to the side, a muscle in his neck overextended and he heard the bones crack violently. “Was gut bist du, schlampe? Huh? Was gut bist du?”

 

“Nichts,” Steve mumbled, hoping it would pacify him, hoping that was the right answer. _Was_ was what and _bist du_ was are you, _was gut bist du_ meant what good are you, and he didn’t know the word for none.

 

Schmidt laughed at him then, then straightened up and set a foot in Steve’s gut, rolling him onto his back. There, Steve lay rigid, his nails biting into his palms where his fists clenched. “Sehr gut, haustier, sehr gut, aber das richtige wort ist ‘keiner.’”

 

“Keiner,” Steve repeated, closing his eyes.

 

“Das ist richtig,” Schmidt said. He set his foot on Steve’s chest and pressed down, until Steve’s ribs began to creak again and he held the weight there. “Versuch es noch einmal. Hast du geübt?”

 

“Ja,” Steve wheezed.

 

Schmidt pressed a little harder. “Oh? Sag mir was ich jetzt sage. Du bist die niedrigste Kreatur auf der Erde, aber du bist gut für sex, so wirst du ein gutes Geschenk sein.”

 

Steve squeezed his eyes shut tight, then he shook his head.

 

“So, hast du geübt?”

 

“Nein,” Steve forced out, his lungs compressed and hardly able to absorb oxygen again. “Nein, I’m sorry.”

 

“Versuch es noch einmal,” Schmidt growled, pressing down harder.

 

“Ich – Ich leid?” Steve gasped.

 

Schmidt clucked his tongue, shaking his head, then lifted his foot and nudged Steve’s right hand away from his body. Steve snapped his mouth shut, squeezed his eyes shut tighter, let his hand lay flat even though he wanted to pull it close to his body; it would hurt less if he didn’t see it coming, he told himself, it wouldn’t hurt so bad –

 

Schmidt’s heel came crashing down on his fingers. Pain shot through his whole body, just from the bones of his hand crunching under Schmidt’s foot. Steve choked on air when he tried not to cry out, and Schmidt laughed at him.

 

“Aw, arm schlampe, tat das weh?”

 

Steve knew what that meant. It was one of the first phrases he’d ever learned.

 

_Poor bitch, did that hurt?_

 

“Ja,” Steve forced out, and Schmidt laughed a second time. Steve ground his teeth in utter revulsion, at how Schmidt took pleasure in his pain, kept his eyes squeezed shut and prayed Bucky didn’t make enough noise to catch Schmidt’s attention.

 

“Sehr gut, das ist sehr gut. Du verdienst es, haustier.”

 

Steve’s grasp of German was limited to a few yes or no questions, to insults and pet names. Schmidt would start using English soon; when he started breaking bones, he wanted Steve to know what he was saying.

 

“Get up, haustier.”

 

Schmidt’s foot lifted from Steve’s hand. Steve rolled onto his side, cradled his hand to his body and pushed himself up onto his elbows.

 

“Remove those,” Schmidt called to him, crossing to the armchair. He meant the rest of Steve’s clothing.

 

Steve turned his head away from the sight of Schmidt sitting down, shifted onto his knees. His hand throbbed, several bones were definitely broken. He wouldn’t cry, he wouldn’t, he wouldn’t be able to draw or paint again, but this wasn’t the first time Schmidt broke his hand, and Steve would not cry.

 

Steve did not stand up again. Schmidt wanted him to crawl. Steve clumsily took off his pants, tugged off his socks, pushed off his boxers, with only one hand and remained on his knees the entire time. Steve held his right hand to his body and crawled, feeling like a beaten dog with his head down, to the chair. Schmidt’s fingers curled in his hair and pulled it painfully taut.

 

“Such fine hair,” Schmidt cooed, “such a shame you are not German, haustier, such a shame. You could almost be, lovely blue eyes and fair hair, but there’s green in your eyes, did you know?" Schmidt asked in a condescending tone. "Such a shame," he murmured. "I imagine it’s the Irish in you. Such a shame…”

 

Steve wanted to spit in Schmidt's face, but held his tongue. He needed Schmidt to keep talking.

 

“Do you know why I have been kept late, schlampe?” Schmidt asked.

 

Steve shook his head. Schmidt pulled his hair tighter. Steve held back a wince as follicles popped, overextended, from his scalp.

 

“The Führer will be arriving soon, do you know that?” Schmidt said.

 

Steve bit his lip and shook his head. Soon, how soon, it had to be just a few days –

 

“His boat arrives the 10th.”

 

Steve sucked in a breath. Schmidt yanked his head up by his hair.

 

“Does that surprise you, haustier?” he asked sharply.

 

Steve shook his head again. He kept his face blank, Schmidt would get no expression from him, by now, Schmidt knew better than expect it from him. Steve would be silent and look up at him or down at the ground, but he would not give Schmidt any expression. It helped keep his hope inside.

 

But January 10th? Oh, what cruel irony that was.

 

“Did you expect him later?” Schmidt asked. “It matters little. You will be there to greet him.”

 

Irony fled his thoughts. Steve swallowed.

 

Schmidt touched a hand to his face and Steve knew better than to recoil. “I have told Hitler of your beauty, and he wishes to see it himself. You are to be his welcome gift.”

 

Steve clenched his jaw. Schmidt smirked.

 

“Does that displease you?” Schmidt asked, with sick glee. “Very good, you are better when you are angry. The Führer will enjoy you greatly, I am sure.”

 

Steve couldn’t hold back his glare, for all it would make Schmidt laugh harder. The fucking Führer would enjoy _nothing,_ the fucking Führer could enjoy having his brains polluting the bay, Bucky wouldn’t let Hitler _touch_ him –

 

Schmidt’s hand smacked Steve across the face, ripped Steve’s hair from his grip and sent him sprawling to the ground. His broken hand hit the floor and Steve let out an involuntary gasp of pain. Schmidt laughed, kicked at him until Steve scrambled back up onto his knees. Then Schmidt reached out and grabbed Steve's throat a second time, yanking him forward. Steve glared, let saliva pool in his mouth so the next time he felt the urge to spit, he _could._ Fuck it, he was going to spit in Schmidt’s face –

 

“Open your mouth, schlampe,” Schmidt told Steve, his free hand going to his belt.

 

Steve clenched his jaw. He wished he could bite Schmidt’s dick off.

 

“Open your mouth,” Schmidt repeated. Steve spat on his hand instead when it shot out to grab his jaw, and Schmidt’s face flashed a dozen different emotions before settling on anger. “Open your mouth,” Schmidt said a third time.

 

This time, he commanded it.

 

Steve opened his mouth. He hated himself for it, but he’d never been able to resist an Alpha voice, Omegas never defied commands. He hated his entire designation for it, for his mouth hanging open and Schmidt’s curling lip. He shut his eyes; it wouldn’t hurt if he didn’t see it coming, it wouldn’t hurt if he didn’t see it coming, it wouldn’t hurt if he didn’t see it coming –

 

_[]_

 

Schmidt’s hand closed on the back of Steve's neck, yanked him flush against the armchair, and shoved his head down. Steve gagged on the foul taste, kept his eyes squeezed shut, then his airways were blocked and he choked, unable to breathe. The heel of a boot pressed against each of Steve's legs, pinning him. Schmidt was groaning above him, Steve choked on it, he had to force himself not to bite and bite hard; _ten days,_  ten days, Hitler would be dead, Schmidt would be dead, _ten days and Schmidt would be dead_ –

 

Steve couldn’t hear anything over the roaring of blood in his ears while he gasped for breath every few seconds and Schmidt’s vocal, sickening pleasure. He prayed Schmidt couldn’t hear Bucky; he prayed _Bucky_ couldn’t hear _Schmidt._

 

“Sehr gut, schlampe, sehr, sehr gut. This is all you are good for.”

 

 _Fuck you,_  Steve though, _fuck you, I hope you bleed to death fucking slowly –_

 

“You exist just for this, schlampe, this is all you Omegas are good for, for pleasing your Alphas.”

 

 _You’re not_ my _Alpha,_ Steve wanted to scream, but his throat and mouth were filled to the point that he could hardly breathe. Both of Schmidt’s hands locked around his head and the back of his neck, his nails digging into Steve’s skin. Bucky would never treat Steve like this, he’d never fuck Steve’s throat like this, Bucky was Steve’s Alpha, Bucky would never do this –

 

“Yes, yes, this is all – all you are good for, ohhh –”

 

Steve took comfort knowing that when Schmidt left, Bucky would hold him and promise no one would ever do this to him again. His eyes leaked tears; why had he tied Bucky up, why hadn’t he left the room unlocked, fuck Hitler, Steve couldn’t _breathe_ _–_

 

Schmidt’s nails in his hair drew blood, Steve felt bile rising in his throat, but it never rose high enough. Schmidt would probably be too disgusted to do anything if Steve vomited all over him, but Steve hadn’t vomited on anyone in over five years. Steve’s jaw ached, his spine ached, the arthritis in his knees flared, and his right hand was getting pinned to his body by Schmidt’s calf. His whole body was in pain and he could hardly breathe.

 

“Just a mouth and a hole to fuck, as you Americans say.”

 

Steve was _not._

 

“Perhaps the Führer will let me visit you again after he has you, schlampe. You are a whore, he should not mind sharing you.”

 

Nobody was ever gonna touch him ever again after Bucky killed Hitler, nobody but Bucky, and Bucky would never do this to him –

 

“Sehr gut, schlampe, gut, du bist gut darin, oh…”

 

Steve gagged on Schmidt’s release, but was forced to swallow it to breathe. Schmidt started laughing above him, and a hand forced his face up, his mouth still open, tongue depressed and jaw hurting from the strain.

 

_[]_

 

“I got tears from you this time,” Schmidt said happily. “Very good, schlampe.”

 

Steve bit down, not as hard as he wished he could with his jaw cramping, but Schmidt still yelped in pain and shoved him off. Steve hit the ground, crawled away while he coughed and spat spunk and spittle from his mouth, wiped his tongue on his bare arm to get the taste off it. Schmidt grabbed him by the hair; he yelped as Schmidt yanked him off the ground, then grabbed his throat and squeezed tight. He gasped, wheezing for air, and Schmidt glared down at him.

 

“You are lucky that Adolf wants you alive and capable, bitch,” Schmidt snapped, saliva striking Steve in the face.

 

He only called Steve a bitch in English when he was really angry. Steve felt like laughing hysterically. He'd wanted to bite Schmidt's dick for so long and it felt just as satisfying as he'd hoped it would be.

 

“I would cut your tongue from your mouth otherwise for that,” Schmidt said angrily at Steve.

 

Steve spat at Schmidt again. Schmidt flinched, eyes closing, then he opened them again deliberately and looked down at Steve. His grip on Steve’s throat doubled, lifting him from the ground a second time. Steve choked again, scratched at Schmidt’s hand with his unbroken fingers, prayed, prayed Bucky couldn’t hear, didn’t know what was happening –

 

Schmidt threw Steve again and Steve hit the wall between the two bedroom doors. He groaned, collapsed onto the ground, his head spun and ears were ringing from the impact. He saw Schmidt’s boots, saw dust rising under his soles, then realized he couldn’t hear the stomping footsteps. Oh, that was bad.

 

Schmidt’s foot collided with Steve's stomach, then his chest and knocked the air from his lungs. Steve struggled to inhale and Schmidt kicked him again. A hand grabbed his hair, yanked him away from the wall, then another kick landed in his rear and sent him sprawling onto the ground. Steve tried to push himself up and Schmidt kicked his arm out; his chin hit the ground and teeth cut into his cheek. Steve tasted his own flesh and copper, and the combination of blood and semen on the back of his tongue finally turned his stomach. Steve heaved, vomited pure bile mixed with the spunk he’d had to swallow and the blood in his mouth, and apparently his hearing had returned, as he heard Schmidt’s exclamation of disgust over him.

 

Schmidt grabbed Steve's hair and pulled him up, pulled Steve up so his face was angled to the ceiling and the vomit pooled in his mouth. His throat spasmed and Steve started to choke on it.

 

“Disgusting creature,” Schmidt spat and dropped him again.

 

Steve spat blood and come and bile onto the floor, gasped for breath and barely got it in before he heaved again. Schmidt kicked him again, causing him to fall into the pile of fluid on the floor.

 

“Disgusting!” Schmidt repeated. “You are the lowest, you wallow in your own vomit!”

 

Steve pushed himself up, looked up at Schmidt, and spat at his feet. Schmidt jumped backwards, shouting curses in German, as Steve wiped vomit off his chest and shook it off his fingers. He inhaled shakily, then something soft hit him in the head and he fell sideways. It was a towel, taken from his bathroom.

 

“Mach es sauber!” Schmidt snapped at him, pointing at the pool of vomit. “Clean it up!”

 

Steve used the towel on himself first, and that earned him a kick to the head. He crawled away from Schmidt, trying to wipe his body off with his broken hand despite the pain it caused, while Schmidt continued to shout at him in German words Steve didn’t bother to try recognizing. Bucky would never do this, Bucky would never _see_ this; Steve, naked, crawling on the floor covered in his own vomit like a dog, Bucky would never, ever see this –

 

Schmidt grabbed him by the hair again and dragged him, screaming now, back to the pool of vomit. “Clean it up!” he shouted, throwing Steve down and wiping his hand on his trousers. “Disgusting bitch, clean it up!”

 

“I hate you,” Steve gasped, “I hope you die painfully, you _bastard,_  you heartless, pigheaded motherfucker –”

 

Schmidt backhanded Steve once again, shouting in German. Steve spat blood onto the ground, then wiped up some of the vomit with the towel and threw it at Schmidt. Schmidt jumped away from it, aimed a kick at him that Steve rolled away from. His crooked spine erupted in pain, his hand throbbed, he could still feel the imprint of Schmidt’s boots all over his body.

 

“You little –” Schmidt trailed off into curses in German.

 

Schmidt stalked off to the bathroom still shouting, and Steve drew back into a corner of the room, pressing his back into it. He pulled his legs up against his chest and hugged himself tightly, rocking back and forth while he sobbed. He never cried, he’d never given Schmidt the satisfaction, but he was covered in his own vomit and Bucky had to listen to all this – But Bucky wouldn’t let this happen ever again, ten days, ten days and Schmidt would be dead. Bucky could save Steve, he just had to save the world first. Steve cried harder. He wished he had agreed with Bucky, fuck the world, fuck the war, fuck everything, he wanted Bucky to save him _now,_ he wanted Schmidt to be dead _now_ , he just wanted Bucky…

 

“... Filthy! Filthy, that is what you are,” Schmidt called to him.

 

Steve heard a towel hitting the floor, then Schmidt’s footsteps stamping towards him. Steve hugged himself tighter, he wanted Bucky, he wanted Bucky, he wanted his mother and his home and he wanted to be anywhere but there –

 

Schmidt grabbed a fistful of his hair and dragged him out of the corner by it, threw him onto the ground in front of the chair. Steve curled into a ball on his knees, his forehead pressing to the ground, and Schmidt kicked at his head until he sat up.

 

Schmidt grabbed his jaw and yanked his head up. “Apologize,” he growled.

 

Steve spat in his face. Schmidt slapped him, then grabbed his face a second time, squeezing so hard it hurt. Steve could already feel the bruise developing.

 

“Apologize, Omega,” Schmidt commanded.

 

Steve bit down on his tongue to keep himself from obeying, until he tasted blood again and kept biting. He tried, at least.

 

“S–sorry,” Steve gasped a second later.

 

Schmidt shook him. “Sie entschuldigen richtig!” he spat back.

 

Steve swallowed the blood. “Ich leid.”

 

Schmidt shook him, then released him with a nod. “Besser, nicht gut, aber besser. Ekelhafte kreatur.”

 

Steve swayed, then dropped to the floor, weak all over. Everything hurt. He reeked. The smell of bile and semen still filled his nose and he wanted to vomit again, but his stomach was clenching painfully to indicate there wasn’t even bile left in it.

 

“I will pick you up at nine thirty am on the morning of January 10th,” Schmidt said above him. “I will bring you clothes. You do not need to pack anything. Be waiting for me.”

 

Steve nodded at Schmidt’s feet. Schmidt would be dead by the end of January tenth. It was justice, not irony.

 

Schmidt’s boots walked away. The front door opened and slammed shut.

 

Steve closed his eyes, rolled onto his back and raised a shaking hand to his face. His shaking left hand, his right hand throbbed with pain still. He hurt everywhere, but it was over, already over when any other time, it would have just begun. The vomit had saved him. Steve let out a hoarse, wry laugh; all the times he’d wished he could vomit just to get the semen out of his stomach, he could have never thought it would drive Schmidt out.

 

Bucky. Bucky was waiting for him. Steve rolled onto his front, then picked himself off up the ground and took stumbling steps to the bathroom. He kicked at the towel covering the pool of vomit, then turned back and cleaned it up properly before the smell could soak through the wallpaper. He dumped the towels in the bathtub, turned the shower on and let it run. He wetted a washcloth, wiped down his body, then left the shower running to limp back to the bedroom. Steve unlocked the door, then pushed it open.

 

Bucky was struggling against the ropes, but stopped at the sight of Steve. For a brief second, at least, then he began struggling tenfold. The bedframe groaned and the ropes creaked as Bucky thrashed in his attempts to get free.

 

Steve staggered towards him, with his lesser hand undid the ropes at Bucky’s wrists. Instantly, Bucky sat up and grabbed Steve, hauling him onto the bed and hugging him tightly. Steve started crying again, undid Bucky’s gag and flung his arms, his broken hand screaming with pain, around Bucky’s neck. Bucky ran his hands over Steve's body, he was talking but Steve hardly heard him. Bucky pulled Steve fully onto his lap, cradling him, and rocked him back and forth gently. He kissed Steve's head, his arms, his shoulders, his neck, any part he could reach. Steve clung to Bucky, to his warmth and the safety he represented. Ten days. Ten days, January 10th could be his saving grace instead of a day of mourning.

 

“I’m so sorry, sweetheart,” Bucky was murmuring in his ear, “I should’ve been here to put a stop to that long time ago, I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry, baby, it’s never gonna happen again, he’s never gonna touch you again, I promise, I promise, I’m gonna keep you safe, you’re gonna be okay, I’m so sorry, Stevie.”

 

Steve swallowed tears, pulled his face from Bucky’s neck and Bucky kissed his mouth. They leaned their foreheads together, Bucky petting his hair and Steve still clinging to him.

 

“Hitler gets here on the 10th,” Steve said, his voice raw.

 

Bucky’s eyes searched his face, then nodded. He knew.

 

“I have to be there,” Steve choked out, then reached up to swipe at his tears but Bucky caught his hand. Bucky kissed his palm, then reached out and gently brushed his tears from his face. “Schmidt’s gonna come get me and bring me to the docks.”

 

Bucky said nothing. Already, one of his promises was untrue.

 

“I’m a gift,” Steve said. “For Hitler.”

 

“They’re not gonna touch you,” Bucky promised. “He’ll be dead before he touches you.”

 

Steve let his eyes fall shut, dropping his head into Bucky’s neck again. He believed that. He believed Bucky. Hitler would be dead before he laid a hand on him, and Schmidt would hurt for the times he’d hurt Steve.

 

“We gotta tell Peggy,” Steve mumbled.

 

“Are they coming back before then?” Bucky asked.

 

Steve nodded into Bucky’s neck. “She watches the building. She knows Schmidt will have been here.”

 

Bucky swept a hand through his hair. His fingers would come back bloody, Steve thought vaguely. Bucky made a noise of horror, then held Steve tighter. His fingers came back bloody.

 

The shower kept running. The Nazis paid for the water, so what did it matter? Bucky kept rocking Steve gently, his hold never loosening. Steve’s tears dried up after a while, and he’d guessed that an hour had passed before a knock finally came at the door.

 

“‘S Peggy,” Steve mumbled.

 

“I’ll get it,” Bucky said.

 

But neither of them moved. The knock came again, and Steve pushed himself up. Bucky caught his shoulder, then cupped his face. Steve hadn’t looked in mirror, but he expected that his cheeks and jaw and throat were all bruised bright red, probably purpling already. Schmidt normally didn’t damage Steve's face, for the sake of customers, but he’d really made Schmidt mad, with the vomit and all.

 

“It’s never gonna happen again,” Bucky promised him.

 

Steve nodded. It wouldn’t, other than whatever happened the morning of the 10th, it really would never happen again. Bucky would never hurt him like that.

 

Steve got up, forced himself out of Bucky’s arms, and put on clean clothes. Bucky finished undoing the ropes, then followed him limping, always just a step behind him, but it didn’t bother him then. In the living room, Steve wrinkled his nose. It smelled like vomit.

 

Bucky took his hand, though, and Steve went to answer the door. Howard tipped his hat, not really looking, and stepped inside to shrug off his coat. He looked around the room, sniffed the air and wrinkled his nose.

 

“Fuck, Steve, what happened in here?” Howard said, turning around. His eyes went wide at the sight of Steve. “Wow.”

 

“Peggy’s at the fire escape?” Steve asked, not looking at him.

 

“Did Schmidt do that?” Howard asked as Steve stepped past him. He dropped Bucky’s hand to head to the fire escape.

 

“Of course Schmidt did it, who else –” Steve stopped mid-sentence. He turned around, finding Howard looking at Bucky with a hard expression on his face. “Howard!”

 

Howard glanced at him, then held an arm between Steve and Bucky. “It’s an honest question,” he said darkly.

 

“You’re not suggesting…?” Steve couldn’t even say it.

 

Howard raised his eyebrows. Steve drew himself up, mustering up outrage; he was _exhausted,_ he was _beaten,_ he was half starved to death, all to keep Schmidt’s mouth running, _fuck Howard_ and his assumptions.

 

“How dare you,” Steve spat then. He slapped Howard’s hand down, stepped back to Bucky and let Bucky draw him into his side. “You know what Schmidt does, you’ve known this entire time. Bucky would never –”

 

“To be frank, Steve, I’ve only met the man twice," Howard cut in, "and one of those times he was confessing to having forced himself on you once before!”

 

“Which he didn’t do!” Steve interrupted shortly.

 

Howard set his jaw. “Really? It’s kind of hard to think that something like that happened without a reason, and it’s really hard to interpret a _yes_ as a _no_ –”

 

“He _thought_ he had me when I was in heat once!” Steve snapped. He was sick of people’s snap judgements, of Howard thinking he knew everything, _how dare he_ imply Bucky would _ever_ lay a hand on him, _how dare he._ “He _thought_ that he took advantage of me in heat," Steve half-yelled, "and couldn’t remember all the details because at the time, he was rutting!”

 

Howard faltered, but flicked his judgemental gaze on Bucky, who had said nothing so far. Steve glanced up at him, then groaned frustratedly and went back to glaring at Howard.

 

“His ma lied to him about what happened," Steve snapped, "when really he kept his head and didn’t do nothing to me, so forget what he said about it, he didn’t know the truth. Bucky would never hurt me.”

 

In the distance, Steve heard knuckles rapping on glass. He glanced between Howard, whose face was now impassive, and Bucky, who was looking at the floor. He let out another long groan, flashed a distasteful look at Howard, and stormed away to go let Peggy in, muttering to himself about stupid fucking Alphas. _Bucky_ would never…

 

In the second bedroom, he yanked open the blinds and then the window, helped Peggy through and crossed his arms over his chest to resume glaring through the open door at Howard and Bucky while Peggy brushed dust off her coat.

 

“What’s the matter?” Peggy asked, looking up. She glanced out the room, then at Steve, then doubled back and gaped at him. “Steven!”

 

“‘M fine,” Steve grumbled, but Peggy clucked her tongue at him and reached out to lift his jaw. He flinched, but let her examine his face.

 

“What had Schmidt so angry?” Peggy asked.

 

“I threw puke at him,” Steve muttered.

 

Peggy raised her eyebrows, then she sighed an: “Oh, _Steven,_ ” and pulled him into a hug. Steve went stiffly, then relaxed a little and dropped his head onto her shoulder. It felt like hugging his mother. He felt fourteen and scared and worried over Bucky again. He set his hands at her back, letting the tension bleed from his body.

 

He heard footsteps and lifted his head. Bucky lingered in the doorway. He pulled back from Peggy, who let him go, and crossed to Bucky, circling his arms around Bucky’s neck and leaning on him. Bucky held him for a moment, then bent a little and lifted from the ground. Steve let him, wrapping his legs around Bucky’s waist, and Bucky carried him into his bedroom.

 

“Come in here,” Bucky said to Howard and Peggy as they went.

 

Steve felt grateful. He hated the entire living room now.

 

Bucky laid him down on the bed, then sat next to him and Steve curled into his side. Howard leaned against the dresser, arms crossed over his chest, and Peggy perched on the end of the bed.

 

“What happened?” Peggy asked softly.

 

“Boat comes on the 10th,” Steve told her. “Schmidt’s going to get me and take me to the docks.”

 

“Why?” Howard asked.

 

“For Hitler,” Steve sighed.

 

Bucky kissed his hair. Steve said nothing further than that. He was tired, drained and sick of it all.

 

“We’ll be able to follow you to the docks,” Peggy said gently. “I’ll be waiting with a car nearby, when the shooting starts, run. I’ll take you to a safe location.”

 

“What about Bucky?” Steve asked quietly.

 

“Howard will be his getaway driver,” Peggy answered.

 

Steve glanced up at Howard, whose face was still impassive. Steve shook his head a little, shut his eyes and pressed his face into Bucky’s shoulder.

 

“You’re going to shoot Schmidt, aren’t you?” Howard asked abruptly.

 

“Yes,” Bucky said without hesitation.

 

Steve didn’t lift his head or open his eyes. There was silence for a moment, like Peggy and Howard were thinking of how to respond.

 

“You have to take out Hitler first,” Howard said eventually.

 

Steve curled his fingers into Bucky’s shirt. Bucky sighed deeply.

 

“Schmidt’s second, then,” he said.

 

“That’s fine,” Howard answered.

 

“I’ll have your money in cash,” Peggy spoke up. “Canadian bills, mostly, a few American dollars to get you past the border.”

 

Steve opened his eyes for that. Peggy gave him a soft smile. “I’ll give it to you at the base, along with passports, some papers. I have contacts in Montreal and along your route, we’ll get the two of you a car, send you north. You’ll be able to stay there until the war is over.”

 

Steve nodded, shut his eyes and returned his head to the crook of Bucky’s shoulder.

 

“Dr. Erskine is currently in Montreal,” Peggy added. Steve lifted his head again. “I’ve told Colonel Phillips that you’re ill, and its the least we can do to arrange for you to receive Erskine’s serum.”

 

“Thank you,” Steve murmured, earnest in his gratitude despite his fatigue. “That means a lot.”

 

Bucky squeezed his shoulders. “Thank you,” he said as well. “We’re really grateful for all you’re doing.”

 

“You realize you’re going to be a hero, right?” Howard said. “The whole world’s gonna fawn over the guy who shot Hitler.”

 

Steve’s gaze drifted up to Bucky, who looked at Howard… quizzically.

 

“I don’t really care,” Bucky said eventually. “Honest, if Hitler’s death didn’t hinge on Steve getting that treatment from Erskine and all, I’d just take out Schmidt and be happy seeing him dead. I don’t want to be a hero.”

 

Howard worked his jaw, looking at Bucky with guarded eyes. Steve shook his head again and dropped it to lean on Bucky again.

 

“I hope you’re telling the truth,” Steve heard Howard say. “For Steve’s sake.”

 

“I’d do anything for Steve’s sake,” Bucky answered.

 

Steve smiled, a little glad, a little sorrowful. Bittersweet. Bucky meant it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _with that, i leave you for this week. if you need something soft to cheer you up after this chapter, check out my college au, These Days, i just updated it on Friday. or if you're reading edges blurred, that was updated yesterday with some fun sexcapades. decompress, ducklings, seriously. i love you all and i'll see you next week with the next update to this, have a good week._
> 
> _Translations from German to English, the meaning behind some of these words is abusive, discretion is advised._
> 
> **Guten abend** = _Good evening_  
>  **haustier** = _pet, domesticated animal_  
>  **Ich hoffe du hast an deinem Deutsch gearbeitet** = _I hope you worked on your German_  
>  **Lass uns sehen. Wenn du verstehst, nicke oder schüttle deinen Kopf und ich lasse dich atmen** = _Let's see. If you understand, nod or shake your head and I'll let you breathe_  
>  **Kannst du nicht denken?** = _Can not you think?_  
>  **Gut** = _Good_  
>  **Hast du geübt?** = _Did you practice?_  
>  **Ich habe dir eine frage gestellt. Hast du geübt, schlampe?** = _I asked you a question. Did you practice, bitch?_  
>  **Was gut bist du, schlampe? Huh? Was gut bist du?** = _What good are you, bitch? Huh? What are you good? _  
>  **Sehr gut, haustier, sehr gut, aber das richtige wort ist ‘keiner'** = _Very good, pet, very good, but the right word is 'keiner'_  
>  **keiner** = _none_  
>  **Das ist richtig** = _That's right_  
>  **Versuch es noch einmal. Hast du geübt?** = _Try again. Did you practice?_  
>  **Sag mir was ich jetzt sage. Du bist die niedrigste Kreatur auf der Erde, aber du bist gut für sex, so wirst du ein gutes Geschenk sein** = _Tell me what I say now. You are the lowest creature on earth, but you are good for sex, so you will be a good gift_  
>  **arm schlampe, tat das weh?** = _poor bitch, did that hurt?_  
>  **Sehr gut, das ist sehr gut. Du verdienst es, haustier** = _Very good, that's very good. You deserve it, pet_  
>  **Mach es sauber** = _Clean it up_  
>  **Sie entschuldigen richtig!** _You apologize correctly!_  
>  **Ich leid** = _I'm sorry_  
>  **Besser, nicht gut, aber besser. Ekelhafte kreatur.** = _Better, not good, but better. Disgusting creature.___


	8. Seven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _it's monday, the week ahead is shitty, but to make your commute better (for those of you who are NOT DRIVING), i bring you: The Death of Hitler._

**_[OneRepublic On Their New Single_ ** **Not For Me** **_, April 20th, 2009, ALT Press]_ **

 

_“The lyrics are much darker, I’d say, than most of your other writing. What would you say inspired the song? Particularly the chorus? Would you say this is a Bonnie and Clyde sort of tale?”_

_“Actually, it was a recent news story of a very old tale, and no, it’s not Bonnie and Clyde. It’s about the prostitute who passed German secrets to the Allies that got Captain America to kill Hitler. We wrote the song right when the story broke because we knew we wanted to be the first ones to do so. Ryan’s a bit of a closet World War II buff, so it was his idea to write about Roger Smith.”_

 

_“What inspired the narrative of the song, though? We know very little about Roger Smith, except that Roger Smith is almost definitely not his real name.”_

_“There’s definitely parts of it that are probably complete fiction, but we like to think that the overall narrative, glory’s not for me, that probably was true. After all, he seemed perfectly willing to fade into absolute obscurity.”_

 

_“And the romance between him and Captain America?”_

_“Almost entirely wishful thinking, I’m sure.”_

 

*

**[january 9th, 1945]**

 

Bucky crawled out the fire escape and met Howard a mile or so away. He had protested to leaving Steve alone, but Peggy argued that Schmidt might be suspicious if he saw the doors of both bedrooms shut the morning Steve would be leaving for good. And they needed to be able to follow them to the docks. So Bucky had to crawl out the window and leave Steve to face Schmidt alone again. He felt like a coward about it and even worse for Steve.

 

For a long time before, Bucky had held Steve. He’d wanted to scent Steve all over, but Steve would just have to wash it off. There was no reason for Steve to smell like another Alpha when Schmidt came to collect him, Schmidt had canceled all Steve’s appointments for the 9th and onward. So he’d just held him, clung to him really. He didn’t want to leave.

 

But he had. He’d crawled out the window and slunk off in the night. Like a coward, he tried not to think and thought anyway. Howard had been standing on a street corner several blocks off, smoking a cigarette, and when Bucky had passed him, Howard had simply fallen into stride beside him.

 

They’d been walking for half an hour now. Bucky had his hands in his pockets, the pockets of his old jacket; Steve had given it back. It was snug, having been baggy on Bucky's fifteen-year-old frame, but it smelled like Steve to start with. _“So it’ll smell like you again,”_ he’d said. _“But you’d better give it back later, ya hear me?”_

 

Howard finished his cigarette finally, threw it onto the ground as they were walking. He pulled a second out and Bucky took his hand from his pocket to hold it out to him. Howard glanced at him, the first eye contact they’d made the entire night, then pressed his lips in a thin line, but pushed the cigarette into Bucky's palm. Bucky took it, stuck it in a corner of his mouth, took Howard’s lighter and lit the end. He took a long drag, blew out his breath. Howard did the same beside him.

 

“So,” Howard spoke finally. “I probably don’t need to tell you that if you did actually –”

 

“I didn’t,” Bucky cut him off sharply. He shot a look at Howard, took a puff to avoid cussing him out in the middle of the street. It was late, close to curfew, Bucky didn’t need to attract attention to them.

 

“But if you ever do –” Howard started.

 

“I won’t,” Bucky snapped, cutting him off. He flicked ash in Howard’s direction, immature, perhaps, but he didn’t have much else to do to express his irritation. “You can believe that.”

 

Howard brushed the ash away without concern. “Steve’s pretty headstrong,” he said, “but at the same time, I’m sure he’d try to rationalize –”

 

Bucky cut him off again. “Steve wouldn’t rationalize anything," he insisted sharply. "He hasn’t taken care of Schmidt himself already because we still need him, but if he could, he'd kill the bastard without a second thought.”

 

“I’m going to be watching,” Howard said calmly, “is my point.”

 

“Fine,” Bucky retorted. “Just keep your binoculars out of our bedroom, pal.”

 

Howard shrugged. “As long as nothing I should be keeping an eye on happens there.”

 

Bucky shot him another disgruntled look, then huffed and jerked his gaze away.

 

“Left,” Howard said softly.

 

They turned, crossing the street to enter a new alley. Howard reached a canvas covered vehicle, checked the alley for watchers, then rapped his knuckles over the roof of it and lifted the canvas.

 

Peggy started the engine. Bucky helped Howard pull the canvas off, then the both of them crammed into the back seat of the car, the canvas filling the space between them. Peggy wore a man’s suit and tie and a cabby’s hat, complete with a false mustache, and the second they climbed in and shut the doors, she pulled out of the alley.

 

They drove another twenty minutes, in the opposite direction of the docks. Peggy parked in another alley, they got out, and Peggy led them on another walking trip. Ten minutes later, she turned into the back alley by a closed tea shop, walked up to the rear entrance and knocked.

 

A panel slid open. A woman with aged eyes looked out at them, then said in heavily accented English: “Hasn’t the weather been lovely of late?”

 

“Oh, yes,” Peggy agreed, “but I always carry an umbrella.”

 

The woman nodded, the panel shut. A second later, the sound of locks sliding open could be heard, and the door opened. The woman ushered them inside, shut and re-locked the door behind them.

 

“Upstairs,” the woman told them. “He wait for you.”

 

“Thank you, Hilda,” Peggy said.

 

Peggy pecked her cheek and the woman patted Peggy's face, then pointed to her false mustache.

 

“Take that off face,” she said, “it bad look for you.”

 

“Isn’t it?” Peggy agreed with a laugh, then tugged the false mustache from her upper lip. She nodded to him and Howard, then started up a flight of stairs. Bucky nodded to Hilda, who nodded in return before she vanished from view.

 

The tea shop was deserted, but upstairs was packed. Bucky looked around in light wonder, at the map tables and desks, typewriters and the bank of Enigma machines, the men and women working with hushed voices that stopped instantly as Peggy, Howard, and Bucky entered.

 

An older man walked up and stuck his hand out to Bucky.

 

“Colonel Phillips,” the man introduced himself. Bucky took his hand and shook it briefly. “Good to finally meet you, Captain Barnes,” Colonel Phillips concluded.

 

“Good to meet you,” Bucky agreed faintly. When he let go, his hands trembled slightly still.

 

Colonel Phillips shook hands with Peggy and Howard as well, then gestured them forward towards a large, central table spread with a detailed map of New York and its boroughs.

 

“We’ve got the plans for the buildings surrounding the harbor," Phillips began, "we’d figure we ought to let the sniper pick his roost. The boat will be coming in here –" he pointed to a spot on the map of Brooklyn "– and from what we’ve seen, they’re already prepping for Hitler’s arrival. There’s empty buildings here, here, and here that they haven’t touched since setting down, that one’s condemned, this one is an abandoned office, this old canning factory apparently still reeks of tuna.”

 

Bucky looked over the colonel’s maps, the building plans, listened to him give an overview of the land. Phillips did a good job briefing him, providing potential dangers and potential advantages to each route.

 

“Carter will be waiting here for the prostitute,” Phillips said, pointing; Bucky clenched his jaw. “Stark will be waiting here for you. You’re going to meet up on the far side of town, word is Smith’s going to split the second he gets his money, but I don’t really give a damn about one hooker.”

 

“This was his idea,” Bucky interrupted.

 

Phillips looked up at him, blinking. Bucky glanced between him and Peggy, frowning heavily.

 

“All of this was St–Smith’s idea," Bucky insisted. "Right?”

 

“Well,” Phillips admitted, a smile breaking his face, “that may be true, but that’s not leaving this board room. Far as the rest of the world’s concerned, Roger Smith doesn’t exist.”

 

Peggy caught Bucky's eye, and though her expression was largely unreadable, it felt like a warning. Bucky looked down at the maps, then nodded.

 

Roger Smith didn’t exist. And Steve wasn’t one for glory, no more than Bucky was.

 

“We’ve confirmed that Doctor Erskine’s waiting for him in Montreal, though, haven’t we?” Peggy asked.

 

Phillips waved a hand. “Yeah, kid can get his whatever fixed. Now, this building here has the best sightlines, far as I can tell, but it’s closer to where the Navy Yard workmen are…”

 

An hour later, they had outlined the plan to the very last detail. Bucky was shown to a room on the third level, filled with cots and already sleeping men. Bucky collapsed onto the nearest empty bed with a heavy breath.

 

Half an hour later, he punched at his pillow and tried lying on his other side. Another twenty minutes went by, and he shifted onto his back.

 

Bucky doubted he’d ever sleep well again if Steve wasn’t lying next to him. He looked around, then shifted back onto his other side, drew his arms under his head, and buried his nose in the sleeve of the jacket. Steve’s scent was fading from it, but it was still there, still a comfort, empty and unfulfilling as it was.

 

He dozed, drifting in and out of dreams, until the rest of the men in the room began to get up and move.

 

“Morning, Cap,” called a man behind him. “Up and at ‘em, rise and shine, time to pop Adolf Hitler!”

 

Bucky rose, abruptly wide awake. He nodded to the speaker, got up, and left the room. He found Peggy and Howard and Colonel Phillips in the board room; he offered them each a nod in greeting.

 

“Ready to set up?” Phillips asked promptly.

 

“When’s the boat getting in?” Bucky asked instead of answering.

 

“We’re not sure on the exact minute," Phillips said. "It should be some time around noon, but once Schmidt collects the hooker, we’ll know it’ll be soon.”

 

Bucky gave a nod, feeling nausea stirring his guts. “Coffee?” he mumbled.

 

Phillips pointed off to the side. Peggy followed Bucky as he stepped away, touching his shoulder briefly.

 

“He’ll be alright,” she whispered.

 

“He shouldn’t have to,” Bucky answered softly.

 

Peggy tightened her lips and patted Bucky's shoulder. Bucky shook his head, exhaling heavily. He found paper cups and poured himself a cup of coffee, gulped half of it down right away. It was bitter and stale tasting, but Bucky couldn’t bring himself to mind.

 

Peggy squeezed his shoulder, then walked away. Bucky drained the cup, refilled it, and walked back to where Phillips and Stark were talking, waiting for him. They stopped as he approached, Howard raising his eyebrows at Bucky, who just nodded a second time.

 

“Get gone, then,” Phillips said.

 

“Gun?” Bucky asked, dumbly.

 

Phillips lifted a briefcase off the table next to him, holding it out to Bucky, who took it, set it down again and opened it. The familiar rifle, disassembled, gleamed in the yellow lights, and he lifted the magazine, just to check.

 

Full. Bucky nodded, set it back in the case, and shut it again.

 

“Ready,” he said.

 

It was raining, but that would add to his cover. He wore a hat pulled low over his brow, a heavy trench coat, and had the case in his right hand. He walked with a limp, but all the better to draw attention away from him. Who didn’t limp these days?

 

Howard drove him within ten blocks of the docks; the dawn hadn’t yet come, so it was easy for Bucky to slip into the yards with the other workmen. He broke off from the crowds, made his way to the abandoned office, entered it and found it deserted.

 

He cleared every floor, then set up at an south-east facing window. He assembled the rifle, lifted the window with the blinds still down, but parted them and trained his sights on the busy dockmen preparing to receive Adolf Hitler.

 

Time bled by slowly, like bloody roses opening. Bucky’s heartbeat was a roar in his ears, a steady thrum in his chest. Sunlight spilled over the docks, lighting up the working ants and the Nazi toy soldiers working for the glory of the Fatherland. The light travelled in inches, shadows pointing like hands on a clock. Cars and trucks came and went, in singles or pairs, not the convoy that would be meeting the Führer. Every few minutes, Bucky flexed his fingers to keep them from going stiff in the cold, and from that, he counted that three hours had passed. His heart rate thrummed in his chest, yet now, with adrenaline in his veins, his hands were steady.

 

A ship’s horn sounded. Bucky flexed his fingers. The dock went from bustling to rushing, as a massive cargo ship, nondescript but subtly armed, came to a slow stop at the harbor. There was the convoy. A set of stairs was pushed up to the side of the ship, several soldiers streamed out, marched out and stood at attention. Bucky trained his sights on the convoy, watching uniformed Nazi officials file out. A pair of men began setting up a camera, preparing to document the Führer’s arrival. He didn’t know what Johann Schmidt looked like. He was looking for starvation thin hair.

 

Steve was pushed out of the back of a car, shuffled forward with his head down. His ankles and wrists were bound in manacles; _shit,_  that would make it hard for him to run. It looked like he was wearing a nightgown, too, that pulled at his body with the wind and left little to the imagination. Bucky, immediately irate, shifted the sights to the stairs, looking for the reason he was there.

 

A squadron, flanking a short man at their center, made their way down from the ship. Bucky couldn’t get a clear line of fire with the guards on Hitler's every corner; he trailed the sights down as the squadron and the Führer made their way down.

 

The Nazis saluted. Bucky ran his sights over Steve again, found a man holding him by the back of the neck. His jaw tightened when he saw a leather collar binding Steve’s neck. His finger itched to pull the trigger already, but he’d promised to take out Hitler first. The squadron hadn’t yet broken ranks, there wasn’t a clear shot. He could shoot Hitler in the knee or shoulder, but not the head or heart, not yet.

 

Something was happening, what, Bucky couldn’t know, then Steve was getting shoved forward by Schmidt. Bucky jerked his sights over to Steve, watched him trip over the chains, but regain his footing.

 

The squadron broke. Bucky aimed. Hitler stepped forward, his hand lifted.

 

Bucky squeezed the trigger. Hitler’s hand, inches from Steve’s face, dropped as Hitler fell. Bucky aimed again and planted a bullet in the brain of Johann Schmidt. It was better than he deserved.

 

Bucky then searched for Steve, hoping he didn’t find him, but Steve was being held by arms by another Nazi. Bucky took that one out next, then aimed at the next man to run up to Steve. The dock workers had scattered, there were Nazis running around, the uniformed officials running for cover. Bucky scanned once more and caught Steve’s hair, shining in the light bouncing off the snow and ice and rain, disappearing behind a corner.

 

Bucky dropped the rifle and ran, too. There would be Nazis swarming the buildings, soon, they’d start with the ones closer by, but the office Bucky had chosen was over two hundred yards from the main docks; by the time they found his gun, Bucky would be long gone.

 

When he left the building, there were men running and shouting, so he ran, too. He tried to mimic the panicked scattering, though he had a clear path in mind. Howard cranked the engine the second Bucky neared; Bucky jumped into the passenger seat and Howard gunned it.

 

“Did it work?” Howard called over the sound of the engine and shouting.

 

“Like a charm,” Bucky answered. He tossed his hat out the window, ran a hand through his hair, then wriggled out of the trench coat, leaving him in his old jacket. “How far to the meet-up?”

 

“Thirty minutes,” Howard said.

 

A radio crackled to life. Peggy’s voice burst through, Bucky leaned on the edge of his seat to listen.

 

_“Roger’s got a craving, would you mind fetching some cola on your way home?”_

 

“What?” Bucky muttered.

 

Howard grabbed the handset. “Sure thing, doll, I picked up a pack of Broncos, too.” he said, then switched the radio off. “She’s got Steve, we’re good to go.”

 

 _Oh._  Bucky fell back against the seat, breathing a heavy sigh of relief.

 

It was over, it was all over, he’d have Steve back in his arms in thirty minutes, then they’d be on their way to Montreal.

 

“Take a nap, Cap,” Howard said abruptly. “You look exhausted.”

 

Bucky didn’t bother with a reply. He wouldn’t be able to sleep until he saw Steve, anyway.

 

Howard took side-streets, doubled back several times, drove briefly on main roads in the twisted route across town. Bucky held onto the handle of the door with white knuckles, jaw tense, until Howard stopped behind a tailor.

 

“Inside,” Howard said, cutting the engine.

 

Bucky jumped out, looked around but saw no other cars.

 

“Peggy and Steve will be walking from a few blocks down,” Howard answered before Bucky could ask.

 

Bucky let Howard usher him in, dropped into a chair and hung his head in his hands. His heart thudded painfully in his chest, his head throbbed, he was shaking.

 

Howard offered him a cigarette. Bucky took it with a murmured thanks. He trembled less with the smoke filling his lungs.

 

Bucky had smoked through two cigarettes, down to the filters on both, before another door opened and Peggy walked in. Bucky jumped up, threw down the third cigarette he’d just lit, and when Steve stepped out from behind Peggy, Bucky rushed forward. Steve fell against him, his left hand fisting in Bucky’s shirt and his broken right hand hanging behind his neck. Bucky cupped one hand behind Steve’s neck and the other at the small of his back.

 

They said nothing, and Howard and Peggy both respected the silence. Bucky felt hot tears stinging his eyes, dampness where Steve’s face was buried in his neck. It was done. It was over. They could go home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _it's done! the nasty bastards are dead! but there's still so many chapters, you ask? guys. canada. the gays are moving to canada now. hitler is gone, ahead of us we have internal demons to battle. babies to be had. yes, that miscarriage tag is staring you in the face. see you next week!_
> 
> _fun fact, two hundred yards distance for a sniper doesn't sound v impressive, but in WW2, the guns had super shitty accuracy. i enlisted the help of my lil brother to confirm this bc i didn't feel like googling it when he was right there._


	9. Eight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _mondays. they suck. so let's watch hitler be assassinated in slow-mo again_

**_[_ ** **Captain America Never Died** **_, New York Times Editorial, Dean Baquet, November 15th, 2014]_ **

 

_“Last weekend while I was vacationing in Montreal, I stumbled upon a little art gallery for local, unknown artists. I thought, what better way to end my vacation than to find something to write about? As I entered, I found, though truly astonishing talent, the typical children and family members one would expect. A tour guide gave me a brief description of the artist; Steven Grant Barnes grew up in Brooklyn during the 1920s and 30s and in the mid-40s, immigrated to Quebec with his husband-to-be (who was of mixed Jewish and Romani heritage) to escape the Nazi invasion. His children, I was told, were the ones to rent the gallery space, as both S. G. Barnes and his husband passed on. But as the paintings continued, in chronological order by the scenes as the tour guide told me, darker elements began to appear. At about the time where the mid-40s were depicted, I found one painting that absolutely rooted me to the spot._

_“It was a portrait of a faceless man, obscured by shadow and seated in an armchair as if it were a throne. The way that he was framed, the rear of the armchair and his shadowed face took up the background while his hands and knees took up the midground, making him appear much larger than life. The scaling and positioning of him made him foreboding to be sure, but what made the portrait sinister, as that is the only word I could use to describe it, was the boy kneeling between his knees. The boy’s hands were tied behind his back, his body was heavily bruised and emaciated, and his head was bowed over the man’s lap. He was wearing iron manacles not only on his wrists, but on his ankles and around his neck. He was also naked. I asked the tour guide if perhaps S. G. Barnes had been molested as a child, but somehow the answer was more shocking than the painting. I was referred to the title of the portrait and told that the man was S. G. Barnes’s pimp, as he had been a prostitute during the Nazi occupation of New York. The man was Johann Schmidt, and the painting’s title is_ Captain America’s Second Shot. _It was then that I made the connection between the artist's Alpha and background. As anyone who has graduated middle school in America knows, Captain America's name was James B. Barnes, his mother was Jewish, his father was Romani, and he grew up in Brooklyn during the 20s and 30s._

_“I immediately rushed to one of the earlier portraits, a different man, which I was told was the artist’s Alpha. I used my phone to search old photos of Captain America and compared it with the portrait. I asked to speak with the artist’s children, and the tour guide told me that the artist was her grandfather. So I asked her: ‘Was Steven Grant Barnes the prostitute who masterminded the assassination of Hitler, Roger Smith?’_

_“‘Yes,’ she said.”_

_“‘Did Captain America fake his death to run away with him?’”_

_“‘Yes.’”_

 

*

**[january 10th, 1945]**

 

Steve unlocked the door for Schmidt and did not look at him as he entered. Schmidt dropped a bag onto the ground, looked around the apartment and heaved a distasteful sigh.

 

“Du solltest glücklich sein zu gehen,” Schmidt said.

 

Steve didn’t bother trying to think of a translation. Schmidt turned to look at him, wrinkled his nose, and grabbed him by the arm; he yanked Steve roughly forward, then grasped his chin and forced his face up. Steve shut his eyes, tilting his face to the side so he didn’t have to breathe the air Schmidt was exhaling.

 

“Watch your mouth with Hitler,” Schmidt snapped, “or you will wish I was the only one touching you.”

 

Steve bit his tongue. Hitler would be dead before he laid a hand on Steve, not long after, Schmidt would be dead, too.

 

“Do you hear me, schlampe?” Schmidt said, shaking him.

 

“Ja,” Steve spat bitterly.

 

Schmidt shoved Steve away just as roughly as he drew him in, then grabbed the bag off the ground and pushed it forcefully into his arms.

 

“Get dressed,” Schmidt snapped. “We leave shortly.”

 

Steve stepped away, dropping the bag onto the couch and opening it with his left hand only; his right was wrapped in an Ace bandage, the only thing he'd been able to bind his broken bones in. Upon looking inside the bag, Steve wrinkled his nose in disgust; there was barely anything but lingerie it.

 

“I’m going to freeze,” he snapped towards Schmidt.

 

Schmidt smacked Steve on the back of his head; Steve winced and Schmidt did it again.

 

“Then freeze!” Schmidt said callously. “I care little!”

 

Steve drew a sleeveless satin gown from the bag, the most by way of coverage. It was thin, delicate lace trimmed the breast and panels of it ran in upside down _V’_ s from the hips to the hem. He went looking for socks and shoes and found none.

 

“Am I supposed to be barefoot?” Steve shot towards Schmidt, who only sneered.

 

“You haven’t earned shoes yet, schlampe,” Schmidt said.

 

Steve bit his tongue again, instead of mentioning the snow lining the ground and his chances of getting frostbite. Schmidt wouldn’t care, and he’d be dead soon anyway. Steve dressed, Schmidt snatched the bag from him and closed it again, then grabbed him by the arm and dragged him out. Steve kept repeating in his head, not long, not long now –

 

Steve was shoved out into the street, and if he hadn’t been dressed in only a nightgown, he would have gasped for the fresh air — as fresh as exhaust fumes and latent smog could be. Instead, Steve hugged himself and shivered and Schmidt pushed him forward. A car was waiting, a soldier in a Nazi uniform opened the rear door for them, and Schmidt grabbed Steve's head to push him bodily into the back of the vehicle. Steve huddled in a corner, wishing for a coat.

 

Schmidt got in next to him, the door shut, the soldier got into the driver’s seat and started the car. Schmidt took from the floor a box, then turned a smile on Steve.

 

“In days of old, Omegas did not leave the privacy of their homes without their master’s collar,” he said, opening the box.

 

Steve’s stomach dropped.

 

Schmidt, still smiling, withdrew manacles and a heavy, leather collar. “In the new world, this shall be reinstated.”

 

Schmidt grabbed him again, not long now and it would be over, just a few hours and he could escape, and Steve didn’t resist when he chained his wrists and ankles.

 

“Sehr gut, schlampe,” Schmidt said as he buckled the collar around his neck. Buckled it tight, so that Steve could only inhale shallowly and he felt his pulse throbbing against it. “You will make a fine Omega yet.”

 

 _You’ll be dead before that happens,_ Steve thought desperately.

 

Schmidt grasped Steve's jaw, fingers tight, not enough to bruise this time, and drew Steve closer, his breath falling uncomfortably hot on Steve’s face. Steve grimaced, but was unable to jerk himself out of Schmidt's grip.

 

“You’re doing better at submitting, schlampe," Schmidt remarked calmly. "This is good, Hitler requested I break you in fully, and I was worried you’d never get there.”

 

 _Fuck you,_ Steve thought.

 

Schmidt pushed him away and Steve hit the wall of the car hard.

 

“Get on the floor,” Schmidt added, relaxing into his seat. "You are not deserving of a seat."

 

Steve slid off the bench onto the floor. Not long now and it would be over, he reminded himself.

 

Steve rattled around on the floor of the car. The driver didn’t make the ride smooth; he felt carsick and like vomiting all over Schmidt again by the time they stopped. Schmidt grabbed Steve's hair, Steve scrambled to get up, but Schmidt still yanked on his scalp to get him out of the car. Steve blinked in the sunlight, shivered and drew into himself; the chains around his hands and feet jangled angrily. Schmidt pushed him forward, then clamped a heavy hand on the back of his neck.

 

Steve’s breath formed mists in front of him. His lungs rattled, the cold stinging his throat. The chains were freezing on his skin, colder than even the air, but the eyes on him felt even worse. Steve felt more naked than anything else, but it wouldn’t be long before it was all over. Bucky was watching. Bucky had his sights lining up on Hitler already.

 

There was a group of soldiers approaching. Several Nazis strode forward, fast words in German were exchanged, then one man turned and pointed back directly at Steve. Schmidt shoved him forward. Steve stumbled over the manacles at his feet and the men surrounding him laughed. A camera bulb flashed and Steve felt a twisting in his gut that his picture was being taken when he looked like this. They leered at him, their eyes picking apart the exposing nightgown he wore, and as he regained his balance, the group parted, all looking at him like he was a fine cut of steak.

 

But as they parted, they revealed the face on Steve's tin of shitty and tasteless tea. Steve sucked in a breath that burned on its way down, set his shoulders and jaw, and glared at Adolf Hitler. Any second, the shot would ring out.

 

Hitler stepped forward. “Ah, you were right, Schmidt,” he said, a twisted and demented smile curling under his mustache. “It is the picture of Aryan beauty.”

 

Hitler raised his hand as if to grasp his jaw. Steve trusted in Bucky and shut his eyes.

 

He thought there would be a bang, but all he heard was a whistle. Then the impact and screaming. Steve felt Schmidt’s hand on his hair, then the whistle again and Schmidt fell. Steve opened his eyes and turned to see Schmidt lying on the ground, his forehead destroyed by the exit of a bullet. There was blood and bits of brain everywhere; Steve's nightgown was flecked with it all.

 

“The whore!” a man screamed in his ear.

 

There was screaming, men shouting words in German Steve couldn’t understand, someone grabbed him only to fall dead.

 

“Get it!" someone shouted. "Get the whore, it’s a spy!”

 

Steve bolted.

 

Hands grabbed at him, but slipped on the fabric of his gown. There was gunfire, random, in bursts, and he ran. The chains shortened his stride, but in the panic and confusion, he managed to vanish. The cold burned his lungs as he ran, but Peggy’s car wasn’t far; she’d been waiting since before dawn. Steve leapt into it, bullets shattered the rear window and Peggy flooded the engine with fuel.

 

“What happened?” Peggy shouted.

 

“They made me as a spy!” Steve called back. “Someone took my picture, they made me, _shit._ ”

 

“Shit,” Peggy hissed.

 

The car tore out of its hiding place, Peggy shoved a pistol at Steve and snapped at him to return the fire. Steve had never fired a gun in his life, but he turned and pointed out the back window at the men chasing them on foot. He managed to hit one, but only in the leg, before Peggy turned a corner. She drove erratically, cut into traffic amid honking and shouted expletives, in English, thankfully; there were no German soldiers on the street.

 

“We’re going to change cars, be ready to jump out,” Peggy ordered, then grabbed a radio handset.

 

Steve held onto the gun with tight fingers, though he kept his finger off the trigger, and tensed his body to exit. Peggy held the handset to her mouth and, in a completely different tone, she announced: “Roger’s got a craving, could you pick up some cola on your way home?”

 

 _“Sure thing, doll, I picked up a pack of Broncos, too,”_ the radio answered.

 

“Code?” Steve guessed.

 

Peggy only nodded. She pulled into an alley, cut the engine and shoved open her door. Steve jumped out, followed her to a second car just down the alley. The keys were in the ignition already, a bobblehead affixed to the dashboard, and only after Peggy tore out of the alley and a heavyset man came barrelling out of a building, yelling, did Steve realize that they’d just stolen the car. Somehow, that didn’t bother him.

 

He was still wearing chains and a nightgown. Peggy drove for twenty minutes, face white, before stopping outside a garage.

 

“Wait here,” she said and got out. She left the engine on.

 

Steve huddled against the seat, rubbing his hands up and down his arms. A minute later, Peggy appeared with bolt cutters in hand. She got in, dropped them into his outstretched hands, and drove off again.

 

Steve said nothing, only took the cutters to the manacles. He cut the chain on his feet, the cuffs too heavy for the cutters and he left them on his ankles, but the cuffs on his wrists were thin enough that he could carefully cut them off. The chains thudded onto the floor of the car. Steve unbuckled the collar and threw it out the window, sucking in a deep breath as he did.

 

“Good riddance,” Peggy muttered.

 

Steve felt free of more than just the manacles. He felt like he hadn't taken a deep breath before now in years.

 

Peggy stopped on a road, parked and cut the engine. She took off her coat and handed it to Steve, then got out. Steve pulled the coat on and opened his door, finding Peggy crossing around to join him. She held out her arm and Steve took it.

 

“Walk, don’t look nervous,” Peggy whispered in his ear. “Smile a little.”

 

Steve was good at faking smiles. He was high on adrenaline, but coming down as they walked. Peggy began a bullshit story about her daughter, who didn’t exist, and Steve laughed in the appropriate places. Peggy steered Steve into a tailor’s shop five blocks away from the car, nodded to the man sitting in the front, and aimed for the back.

 

Steve dropped her arm as they entered a back room. He saw Bucky jump to his feet and made a beeline for him. Bucky grabbed him in a tight hug, Steve flung his bandaged hand around Bucky's neck and fisted a handful of his shirt with his left while Bucky pushed the fingers of one hand into Steve's hair and pressed the other to his back. Steve trembled with his breathing, his heartbeat uncomfortably fast, and Bucky was crying. It took Steve a while to realize he was, too.

 

In the silence, his brain everything that had happened. Steve let out a choking noise as he realized what Hitler had said just before he died and Bucky shushed him gently, but Steve pulled back.

 

“He fucking called me the picture of Aryan beauty,” Steve spat.

 

Bucky’s eyebrows jumped up, then he pulled Steve back into his neck. Steve went, trembling but with indignation now. Fuck Nazis and their fucking Aryan dream, fuck them. He was gonna have quarter Jewish and quarter Romani kids with muddy hair and muddy eyes and the fucking Nazis could kiss his ass. He was Irish, anyway, fuck blond hair and blue eyes. Fuck Hitler’s last words calling him an _it._

 

“Guys, I know you’re having a moment but we gotta get moving again,” Howard spoke up.

 

Steve pulled back a second time, though Bucky didn’t let him go completely and Steve didn’t want him to.

 

Peggy had a duffle bag at her feet, was holding the strap out to them. “Fourteen thousand, seven hundred and fifty Canadian dollars, two hundred and fifty US dollars," she said evenly. "I’ll have a contact waiting for you just before the border, he’ll have papers for you.”

 

“Papers?” Bucky repeated.

 

“Steven needs to disappear,” Peggy said.

 

Steve bit his lip.

 

“They know what you look like, love," Peggy pointed out, "you’ve got to vanish.”

 

“Wait, what?" Bucky said. "What happened –”

 

“They figured out I was a spy,” Steve interrupted. “I can’t come back, can I?” he directed at Peggy.

 

Peggy shook her head. “Not any time soon," she said. "I don’t know if ever.”

 

Bucky’s arms tightened on Steve. “We’re staying together,” he started.

 

“You’re gonna be a national damn hero,” Howard snapped, “the whole world’s gonna be breathing down your neck, it’s best if you two –”

 

“We’re staying together,” Bucky repeated sharply while Steve bit his lip.

 

“He has to vanish!” Peggy insisted.

 

“I’ll vanish with him!” Bucky shot back.

 

“Buck,” Steve started, not looking at him.

 

Bucky pressed a hand to Steve's cheek, swept it through his hair. “I’m not leaving you,” Bucky said quietly. “I can’t.”

 

There was silence again. Steve hugged Bucky tighter, shutting his eyes. It would hurt less if he didn’t see it coming.

 

“Your contact,” Bucky spoke up, “he’s forging papers, right? He could make a marriage license?”

 

“Jim, you can’t just assassinate Hitler and fade into the woodwork,” Howard said.

 

“Then I didn’t make it out,” Bucky snapped.

 

Steve looked up at him. Bucky pressed both hands to Steve's cheeks and touched their foreheads together gently.

 

“I can’t leave you,” Bucky whispered.

 

"But —" Steve said. “What about your family, Buck –”

 

“Rebecca’d understand," Bucky insisted, "maybe in a couple of years – when all this’s died down, we can let her know then.”

 

Steve swallowed, his throat dry. “Your parents…?” he said without completing the question.

 

Bucky shook his head. “They made their choice already,” he answered quietly.

 

“You’re a hero,” Steve tried half-heartedly. “You deserve to be recognized for it.”

 

“No more than you,” Bucky returned. “Phillips already said they weren’t gonna say a word about your help, and honest, if nobody’s gonna know the real hero, then what right do I got to claim fame I don’t give a shit about, huh?”

 

Steve bit his lip. Bucky pressed tighter.

 

“Please, Stevie, don’t make me…" Bucky pleaded, "I can’t leave you again.”

 

Steve sucked in a trembling breath, then finally nodded. Bucky kissed him, short and deep. Steve sagged into Bucky's arms with an intense relief. Fuck doing the right thing. Steve had done the right thing the entire war. It was time he choose the selfish option. Steve held onto Bucky greedily. Selfishly.

 

Peggy and Howard exchanged glances. “You’re sure?” Peggy asked of Steve.

 

“Yeah,” Steve said.

 

“Swap our last names,” Bucky told Peggy. “And give us backgrounds from up there, but keep our birthdays. That should do it, right?”

 

“Yeah, it would,” Peggy agreed faintly. “You want a marriage license, you said?”

 

“Yeah,” Bucky said, looking at Steve, who nodded and kissed his cheek. “We’ve waited long enough.”

 

“When do you want your anniversary to be?” Peggy asked; she was smiling, too, her eyes sparkling, though not just from the light.

 

Steve and Bucky exchanged glances. “January 10th,” Steve decided.

 

“1937,” Bucky added.

 

“Well, happy nine years, then,” Howard laughed.

 

“I would’ve gone for the day you turned 18,” Bucky admitted, smiling a little weakly.

 

“Sentiment, Buck,” Steve said, laughing just as weakly. Bucky kissed him again, then pecked his cheek, his nose, his forehead.

 

“Yeah, yeah,” Bucky mumbled against his forehead. “You’re a sappy little shit, y’know that?”

 

“You’re sappier,” Steve answered.

 

“You’re both sappy,” Howard threw in. Bucky flipped him off.

 

“I’ll make it happen,” Peggy said, catching their attention again. “Anything else?”

 

“Nothing I can think of,” Bucky said, looking at Steve.

 

Steve looked at the bag, then up at Peggy. “Can you have my mother moved?" he asked. "Can you put her in with my dad’s grave?”

 

Peggy looked taken aback, but nodded. “Do you want the headstones changed?" she replied. "To reflect your new identity?”

 

Steve shook his head. “No," he sighed. "My dad’s not really there, he died in Europe, was never found, but she deserves a headstone, at least.”

 

Peggy nodded a second time. “I’ll see it done,” she promised.

 

When Steve went for the bag to take out however much that would cost, Peggy shook her head.

 

“I’ll take care of it, love," she said. "You keep this for your kids.”

 

Steve bit his lip, then nodded and stepped forward to hug her. Peggy squeezed his ribs gently, then patted his cheek when he pulled back.

 

“Take care of yourself,” she said, looking and sounding emotional. “I’ll try to check on you when I can, alright?”

 

“You take care of you,” Steve said in response. “And Howard.”

 

“Hey!” Howard protested lightly.

 

Steve rolled his eyes at him, then crossed to get a hug from him. Howard’s eyes flicked over his shoulder to Bucky but Steve ignored it. He hugged Howard anyway, nodded to himself as he stepped back and looked to Bucky.

 

“Ready?” Steve said.

 

Bucky nodded, reaching out for him. Steve took his hands, then Peggy handed him the duffle.

 

“There’s an address in there," Peggy said, "a few changes of clothes, a photo of my contact. He’ll see you settled, set you up with Dr. Erskine as well. Get there as quick as you can, alright?”

 

“We’ll see you, Peg,” Steve told her.

 

Peggy reached out and squeezed his shoulder. “Be safe, Steve.”

 

Howard tossed a set of keys to Bucky. “Blue pickup down the road," he told them, "a bit rusty, but she handles nicely.”

 

Bucky offered him a salute in response, then looked down at Steve. He seemed to realize what Steve was wearing abruptly and tugged off the jacket he was wearing.

 

Steve smiled, taking Bucky’s old jacket from him. He took off Peggy’s coat and shrugged it on instead; it was warm and smelled like his Alpha. As always, Steve felt safe wearing it.

 

Peggy found him shoes and real clothes, though they didn’t have time to get the cuffs off his ankles, and she and Howard left them alone in the backroom so Steve could change.

 

“I love you,” Bucky told Steve.

 

Steve stole a kiss. “I love you, too.”

 

*

**_[New Movies Out This Year, 2020]_ **

 

_“4. Like Rahab:_

_In 1945, Captain America assassinated Adolf Hitler, but in order for him to get there, there was first a prostitute who passed German secrets to the Allied Forces under the alias of Roger Smith. Based on the artwork by Steven Grant Barnes and the stories of his and James Barnes’s five children, Like Rahab tells the story of Steve Rogers and James “Bucky” Barnes, unknown until their passing in 2014. From childhood to the war, to Captain Barnes’s decision to fake his death in order to join Steve in escaping the Nazi regime to Montreal, Canada, experience the lives hereto untold…”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _canada! and familial things! are next! i'm gonna change the upload schedule on y'all, uploads for this fic will now be on wednesdays bc i'm going to start adding chapters of These Days on mondays. so, i'll see you next week on wednesday. toodles._
> 
> **Du solltest glücklich sein zu gehen** = _You should be happy to go_  
>  **Sehr gut, schlampe** = _Very good, slut_


	10. Part Two, One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Jesus went unto the mount of Olives. And early in the morning he came again into the temple, and all the people came unto him; and he sat down, and taught them. And the scribes and Pharisees brought unto him a woman taken in adultery; and when they had set her in the midst, They say unto him, "Master, this woman was taken in adultery, in the very act. Now Moses in the law commanded us, that such should be stoned: but what sayest thou?"_   
>  __  
>  **Peace be unto Thee that bringest good tidings.**   
>    
>  _Response: Glory to Thee, O Lord, glory to Thee._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _shhhh it's not thursday yet_
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> _also announcements, tumblr has just declared that as of December 17th they are **banning most/all NSFW content**. you can see a post from staff [here](https://support.tumblr.com/post/180758979032/updates-to-tumblrs-community-guidelines). what does this mean, are we all going to be purged with the pornbots, why is this happening, etc. biggest thing to start with is to learn what this update means for you. second biggest thing is what this update means for fandoms in general. unfortunately, we all know that fanart and other content can be accidentally targeted by the pornbot ray, and this update is no exception. they are banning all adult content and this includes illustrations depicting sex acts. they say that written content depicting nudity or "erotica" will not be targeted, but who knows if that's actually going to work. i will talk more about this in the end notes._
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> _in not frustrating news, we're starting part two! so yeah Like Rahab is separated into three parts, each part focuses on a resolution of some kind. if you couldn't tell, part one was the resolution of abuse; both schmidt's abuse of steve and nazi germany and hitler's "abuse" of the world._
> 
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> _i'll let part two say what it's resolving._

****

 

**[january 21st, 1945]**

 

Peggy had given them a map with a route marked out, directions of how to behave and what to say, told them not to be afraid of stealing cars and to switch them out often. She had told them to get to the center of the city while everyone (German) was panicking and hide out until dark. With Bucky’s help, he’d cut the cuffs off his ankles, leaving them in yet another dark alley. The last Steve really saw of New York was stained by sirens, but before they had left, they visited the small Catholic church where his parents had been married. His mother was in the very back of the cemetery, and Steve only knew how to find her unmarked plot because he’d tracked it down with just as much guilt as grief many times in the few months after she died. He’d walked this cemetery day and night, until the guilt overran that grief and he felt small and dirty and sinful stepping onto hallowed ground.

 

Steve knelt by her head, with Bucky crouched just behind him with a hand on his back. He said nothing. He didn’t need to, he knew she was watching from on high. She knew.

 

He imagined she had wept for him.

 

After a few minutes, he brushed at his eyes and nodded to Bucky, standing up. He put his arm around Steve’s waist, tucking him close against his side. They walked back through the cemetery until halfway through. There, Bucky paused.

 

Steve looked at him, Bucky jerked his head to the side. Though confused, Steve followed Bucky down the rows. They stopped a third of the way down, and when Steve looked at the headstone, he was startled to find his own surname looking back up at him.

 

Bucky knelt down, setting his hand just below Joseph Rogers’ name.

 

“If I’d had the chance,” he started quietly, “I’d’ve asked you and Sarah first.” Steve gripped his shoulder, feeling tears swelling all over again. “But I’ll do right by him, I swear.”

 

For a moment longer, Bucky knelt there and Steve held onto his shoulder. Steve wasn’t sure what Bucky was waiting for; a response from a man in a heaven he didn’t really believe in, perhaps. But he waited in silence, until Bucky lifted his hand from the headstone to grip Steve’s fingers, tight and all-encompassing, even just from a handhold.

 

“C’mon,” he murmured, rising to his feet. “We should go.”

 

In the car, Steve wondered if Bucky would stop to visit his family. When they passed the border of New York into Vermont three days later, Steve finally asked where they had moved to.

 

“Queens,” Bucky answered.

 

Steve asked no more, just picked up Bucky’s hand and kissed the back of it. As he’d said before, Bucky’s parents had already made their choice.

 

It had been over a week since they left when they reached the address Peggy had left them; it was an old hotel, open despite the fact that only a week previous, the Nazis had been making their way steadily up and down the coast. There were no signs of battle in the small, Maine village, nothing but skid marks on the road to indicate a state of haste or panic. It was late, the sun having set long ago, when Bucky parked their car – a slightly rusty Ford they’d stolen only that morning – down the road from the inn and cut the engine. His hands dropped to his lap and he let out a long breath, for a moment, only sitting there. Steve reached out and picked up Bucky’s closer hand, lacing their fingers together. Bucky squeezed his hand, then lifted it to kiss the back as though by unconscious habit.

 

“We should go in,” Steve whispered into the silence.

 

Bucky nodded.

 

“There’ll be a bed,” Steve reminded him, trying for a light smile. They’d been sleeping in cars since they’d left New York; it had left them both stiff and sore. “A real bed, with proper pillows and blankets.”

 

Bucky let out a short huff that was probably meant to be a laugh and squeezed his hand again. “I know, I know. ‘M just tired.”

 

“You can sleep in our room,” Steve told him.

 

Bucky nodded once more. He kissed Steve’s hand a second time, then dropped it to reach over and cup the back of his neck. Steve let himself be pulled in as Bucky pressed their lips in a soft, tired kiss. He leaned their foreheads together, drawing in a deep breath, and Steve kissed his nose.

 

“We tell the landlord we’re brothers,” Bucky whispered.

 

Steve stilled.

 

“Otherwise they’ll look at us funny for wanting to share a room," Bucky continued, regretful. "Or might refuse flat out; they ain’t gonna let you shack up with an Alpha that ain’t your bonded, let alone a fella.”

 

“Right,” Steve mumbled.

 

Bucky kissed him again. “You just act like a moody teenager, you don’t gotta do much but stand there and look pissed about being awake at this hour, doll.”

 

Steve nodded, caught another kiss before Bucky dropped his hand and pulled away. Steve waited while Bucky got out of the car and came around to his side before opening the door and stepping out. Bucky grasped his shoulder for a brief second before tugging the duffle bag from the rear bench, slinging it over his shoulder. He held out his hand for a brief second, as though to take Steve’s arm or hand, but thought better of it and drew back. Steve wrapped his arms around his body, already glaring sullenly at the ground like a pissed off teenager. He didn’t like the inches between his body and Bucky’s. The gap between them was heavy and magnetic, like an ache that begged to be soothed. Something in him sniffed and trembled with the inches, he shivered and it wasn’t the cold.

 

They entered the hotel, walked up to the front desk and Bucky rang a bell. Steve hugged himself tighter, holding his body rigidly a good foot away from Bucky. A door opened somewhere in the house and Steve fixed his gaze on the wood, tracing the faint whorls of the grain to distract himself.

 

Standing there, the book of Genesis came to mind, and he wondered if Sarah had felt this disconcerted standing next to Abraham as if she were his sister and not his wife.

 

A man stepped out from a back room and behind the desk. Steve glanced at him only briefly before returning his attention to the front desk.

 

“Evening,” Bucky greeted. “My brother and I were hoping to get a room.”

 

“Evening,” the landlord echoed.

 

Steve flicked his gaze back up; the landlord’s eyes drifted from him to Bucky and then back to him and Steve looked away, feeling repulsed even though there was little more than curiosity to the man’s attention.

 

“Just the two of you?”

 

“Just us,” Bucky confirmed. “Our town got hit, we barely managed to get away.”

 

Steve saw the landlord nodding out of the corner of his eye. “Bless the Lord you did,” he said. “I only have one room left, it’s small but there’s two beds, thankfully.”

 

“We’re fine with small,” Bucky answered. “We’ve shared a room since we were kids.”

 

That, strictly speaking, wasn’t far from the truth. When they were kids, they spent almost every single night in one or the other’s room, though they had to share a bed. Or at least, they had until they started puberty and Mrs. Barnes started looking at them suspiciously. Then, they’d slept in the living room.

 

“It’ll be twelve a night for the pair of you,” the landlord told them. “How long do you plan on staying?”

 

“We’re not sure, a few days, maybe? We’re waiting for a cousin to give us a ride out to our aunt and uncle’s farm.”

 

“You can pay when you leave then, but I’ll need one night’s rent up front now.”

 

Bucky set down the duffle, unzipped it somewhat, and Steve watched him shift through the bills for a ten. The landlord peered over the edge and Steve hastily coughed, catching his attention. He was successful; the landlord looked over at him with a glint of concern in his eye.

 

“You alright there, son?”

 

Steve nodded. “Head cold,” he said, deepening his voice to make him sound congested.

 

Bucky straightened up, the bag rezipped, and held out a five and some ones to the landlord, who took them with a satisfied nod. He tucked them into a till, then turned and lifted a key from the pegboard behind the desk.

 

“This way,” he said, stepping out to mount a set of stairs. Bucky lifted the duffle onto his back again and Steve let him go up first, following behind and staring unseeingly in his weariness at Bucky’s back. The landlord led them down a long hallway, unlocking a door with brass numbers labeling it _18_ with the key. He stepped inside, drawing out a matchbook and striking it to light a gas lamp. Bucky dropped the duffle bag onto a bed and Steve stepped past the landlord to look around the room.

 

“There’s breakfast at six,” the landlord said. “Lunch is at one, supper’s at seven.”

 

“Thank you,” Bucky said.

 

The landlord nodded, setting the key by the lamp, and stepped out of the room. Bucky shut the door behind him, turned the deadbolt and put on the chain. He turned around again, and Steve moved quickly to throw his arms around him. Bucky held him, arms tight around his waist, and rocked him gently from side to side.

 

“I got you,” he murmured. “‘S alright, sweetheart. I got you.”

 

Steve drew in a steadying breath, then stepped back and tugged Bucky with him. They dropped onto the farther of the two beds and Steve curled into Bucky’s side. Bucky kissed the top of his head, Steve shut his eyes and sighed, ready to fall asleep still dressed in the clothes they’d left New York in.

 

“C’mon, let’s get under the blankets,” Bucky said softly.

 

Steve made a disgruntled noise, but let Bucky shift them around until he’d worked the blankets down and drew them over the both of them. Steve settled into the mattress while Bucky undid the buttons of his jacket, then the snap and zipper of his trousers, working both off of his body. Steve hardly noticed Bucky shucking his own clothes, but fell asleep, vaguely aware of Bucky wrapping him up in both arms, effectively enveloping him in warmth and safety. Last thing he heard before sleep was Bucky quietly whispering: “I love you.”

 

Steve woke slowly, aware first of the heat radiating from the body pinning him to the bed and the content, pleased hum in his chest second. There was light filling the room, the room apparently facing east as the sun rose to illuminate the land. Steve was held firmly against Bucky’s chest by his arms around his upper body, and in his sleep, Bucky had thrown a leg over his hips. Steve let his eyes fall shut again, tucking his head back under Bucky’s chin. For the first time in nearly six years, Steve felt whole. There was no work to be done, no more need for a stiff upper lip, and most especially, there were no strange men to demand his time and body. He did not exist on the shelf of a thrift shop, did not live and breathe as secondhand goods. He felt free.

 

Steve fell asleep again, Bucky’s slow breathing lulling him back to dreams.

 

They didn’t bother with the second bed in the room, though they messed up the sheets in the morning so the housekeeper would suspect nothing when she came in. Two days passed and Steve began to get worried. The landlady kept shooting them glances in the afternoons, the landlord reminding them in the evenings that most everyone was heading to Portland to hide behind the fortified US lines, and there’d been no word if the fight in New York was coming to a close.

 

They learned from rumors and staticky radio shows that the military had descended on New York the day after Steve and Bucky set out, and the fight had been going on ever since. Steve was torn between worrying over the results of the battle and why Peggy’s contact hadn’t come for them yet.

 

Bucky didn’t say so, but he was worried, too. Steve was sure he was just as anxious to stop acting like brothers and become husbands.

 

On the morning of the third day, the landlady knocked on their door, waking them up.

 

Steve scrambled to get out of Bucky’s arms to get in the other bed, only for Bucky to push him back down, muttering that no one could know that he didn’t get out of the second bed. He grabbed his undershirt off the floor, tugging it on before rumpling the blankets of the second bed while the knock sounded again.

 

“I’m coming, I’m coming, calm down before you wake up my brother,” Bucky snapped.

 

Steve cringed a little, but rolled over to feign sleep.

 

He heard the door open, the landlady murmuring a quiet greeting, Bucky’s voice answering her. They exchanged a few words, then he heard the door close and two sets of footsteps retreat from it in opposite directions.

 

Steve sat up while Bucky dropped onto the mattress beside him, but he didn’t get a chance to ask what she’d wanted before Bucky was kissing him. Steve let out a muffled noise, grabbing the front of Bucky’s shirt to steady himself, but kissed back gladly. Bucky pulled back a second later, having sucked Steve’s tongue halfway down his throat, with a broad grin.

 

“Our cousin’s here to pick us up,” Bucky told him, still cupping the back of Steve’s neck, his fingers tangled in Steve’s hair. “We’re checking out today.”

 

“Oh, thank God,” Steve sighed and yanked Bucky back in for another kiss.

 

They parted again a minute or two later, but with unspoken promises of making good on those kisses later. They dressed in fresh clothes, packed their duffle bag again, and made their way down to the lobby.

 

Agent Sousa, Peggy’s contact, rose from a sofa as they stepped down from the stairs and waved to them. “Morning, cuz,” he said in greeting. “How’s dear old Auntie?”

 

“Fine,” Bucky told him. Steve said nothing; he was pretending to be a teenage boy, and as such, had the right to be grumpy in the morning.

 

“Shame she wouldn’t come,” Agent Sousa added, with a tone of sadness. He sounded nearly genuine, had Steve not known that it was an act, it would have been all too easy to accept.

 

“You know our ma,” Bucky agreed, “stubborn as the day is long. She’s convinced she’ll outlast it.”

 

Agent Sousa nodded sagely, then jerked his head out towards the door. “Come on, then, let’s get you boys out to the farm. I already checked you out.”

 

Bucky shouldered the duffle bag, Steve faked a yawn, and they followed Agent Sousa out of the hotel. Bucky waved to the landlady, though Steve didn’t turn back to see if she returned the wave. Sousa pointed to a pickup nearby, then helped Bucky toss the duffle in the back. Bucky helped Steve into the cab as Sousa got into the driver’s seat before climbing up next to him.

 

Steve sat firmly in the middle until they’d gotten far enough away from the hotel, then slumped into Bucky’s side. His Alpha drew an arm up around him, pulling him in closer, and Steve let his eyes fall shut, settling into him happily. Though they’d spent as much time as they could in their room, he’d gotten sick of pretending to be a moody teenager outside it, of being a brother, unable to touch his Alpha when he wanted.

 

They drove in silence for another twenty or so miles. Steve had almost fallen asleep again by the time Sousa stopped the car.

 

“Alright,” he said, and abruptly his country accent was replaced by a clipped, New York one. “Captain Barnes, if you’ll look in the glove compartment, you’ll find the papers to get you across the border, brothers again; ditch those as soon as you get across.”

 

He opened his door and got out. Steve lifted his head from Bucky’s shoulder.

 

“Underneath those are your new identities; you were born in Ontario, to explain why you speak English and not French, but you immigrated to Quebec in 1936 shortly after Steven turned 18, received your marriage license the following January. You'll find rings there as well. There’s a house marked on the map in there, where Dr. Erskine will be waiting for you. Come up with whatever story you like on the way up, as long as you both have all the details straight.”

 

Sousa waved to Bucky, who got out of the car and walked around to the driver’s seat. Sousa stuck out his hand and they shook, Sousa clapping Bucky on the shoulder, before Bucky climbed up into the cab again and settled in on Steve’s other side.

 

“Good luck,” Sousa said, then shut the door.

 

“That’s it?” Steve asked, leaning across Bucky to look out the window. “Where are we going to live? What about work?”

 

“Well,” Sousa said, huffing out a laugh. “Peggy said you wouldn’t like it. But we hadn’t had much time. You’ll have to do house and job hunting on your own.”

 

“Can we stay with Erskine, or is there a hotel we can trust?” Bucky asked, leaning out the window himself.

 

“You’ll stay with the doctor for the time being, at least until he’s completed the treatment on Steven.”

 

Sousa slapped the door of the truck. “Get going, then!”

 

Bucky cranked the engine again. Steve went for the glove compartment, pulling out the map while Bucky hit the gas. Sousa, in the rearview mirror, waved. Underneath the stack of papers was a small box. Steve took it out and lifted off the lid, then plucked two gold bands from within. One small, one slightly larger.

 

“Buck,” Steve said, reaching for his hand. Bucky glanced at him, then smiled a little and held out his left hand. Steve slipped the larger of the two wedding onto Bucky’s ring finger. “With this ring, I thee wed.”

 

Bucky grinned. “Gimme yours,” he said, and Steve handed him the second ring. He slid it onto Steve's hand, then grasped his hand, lifted it and pressed a kiss to the new ring. “With this ring, I thee wed,” he echoed in a murmur.

 

“Until death do us part,” Steve said firmly.

 

“‘Til the end of the line,” Bucky vowed.

 

Steve, grinning, squeezed Bucky’s hand. “Hi, husband,” he said softly.

 

“Hi, babydoll,” Bucky answered with a grin. Steve smiled to himself and leaned against his husband and Alpha’s shoulder. He liked that word, husband.

 

At the border, they gave up their passports and entered the country as brothers. An hour later, Bucky stopped at a gas station and dropped the ripped up passports into a bin. Another day later, they arrived in Montreal, naturalized citizens of Quebec, and lawfully wedded husbands.

 

“Where did we get married?” Steve asked, half past ten and not far from the house marked on their map. He was half asleep, his head on Bucky’s shoulder.

 

“Your ma’s church,” Bucky answered without hesitation.

 

“What about yours?” Steve mumbled back, turning his head slightly to squint up at Bucky.

 

“I was brought up in an orphanage,” Bucky said.

 

Steve flipped through their papers. Just their birth certificates, immigration papers, and marriage license, really; they were both said to have been born in the same county hospital in Toronto, but there was not much else to formulate a past for them.

 

“Orphanage?” he repeated.

 

“Yep,” Bucky answered. “Ma dropped me off, never looked back. Don’t know who my father is.”

 

Steve checked the birth certificate. “His name was George Rogers, Buck.”

 

“Then he’s dead,” Bucky decided, “Ma got rid of me ‘cause she couldn’t handle raising a kid on her own.”

 

Steve didn’t press further. He settled back against Bucky’s shoulder, kissed the line of his collarbone under his shirt. “How’d you propose?” he asked instead.

 

“How would you have liked me to?” Bucky countered.

 

Steve hummed, thinking about it. “The way you said you did really love me, that was nice.”

 

When Bucky was quiet for a longer moment then necessary, Steve elaborated.

 

“You said I deserved marble and gold, to have fine linens and to go to operas. You actually made me feel like I was worth even half of that.”

 

Bucky grabbed one of his hands from his lap, lifted it to his lips and pressed a firm kiss to his palm. “Worth ten of all that, sweetheart.”

 

Steve smiled a little, closing his eyes as he leaned a little further into Bucky’s love. “So, then how did you propose?”

 

“Guess I told you, you deserved to be the pampered trophy husband of a lord,” Bucky mused and Steve reflexively rolled his eyes. “But then I asked if you’d settle for me.”

 

Steve let out a snort and reached up to peck him on the cheek. “I’d hate being a trophy husband,” he said. “And it wouldn’t be settling if it was you.”

 

“See, that’s exactly what you’d say,” Bucky said with a laugh. “Right before saying yes.”

 

“Right _after_ saying obviously, you moron,” Steve corrected, kissing his cheek again. Bucky laughed a second time, his lips parting in a fond smile as he glanced down at Steve and caught his lips in a quick kiss.

 

“That’s what you’d’ve said,” Bucky murmured, turning his eyes back to the road. Steve settled against his shoulder again, tucking his arm over Bucky’s lap and shutting his eyes.

 

“What’re we gonna name our kids?” he asked sleepily.

 

“Sarah, Joseph, and whatever your nan was called.”

 

Steve snorted again, prodding him in the side and causing him to squawk about driving. “You’ve got Rebecca Anne on your side, we can call one of ‘em after your sister.”

 

“Oh, she’d love that,” Bucky chuckled, though his voice trailed off near the end. “She’d call me a sap for it.”

 

“You are a sap,” Steve mumbled, “you wanted to get married the day I turned 18.”

 

“Desperate man, pretty,” Bucky said, turning to kiss his forehead. “Couldn’t wait much longer, could I?”

 

Steve smiled again to himself, tucking his fingers under the hem of Bucky’s shirt. “Love you.”

 

Bucky tipped their heads together a second. “Love you, too, babydoll.”

 

“So, Joseph, Rebecca, Sarah, Anne. We need another boy’s name.”

 

“Not James,” Bucky said immediately, “there are too many Jameses in the world. You know, in my unit there were three Jims, me included.”

 

“How’d you differentiate between the Jims?” Steve asked softly, sleepy and content to listen to Bucky talk.

 

“Well, I was always Sarge, then Cap, and we called the other one Morita, his last name.”

 

“Three Jims, how many did you have in your unit?”

 

“Nine, including me,” Bucky said, “so a whole third of us were Jameses.”

 

“Alright, no James, but what about B–”

 

“I am not cursing any child of mine with the name Buchanan, Stevie.”

 

Steve laughed, curling into Bucky’s side and muffling his giggles in Bucky’s shirt. “Alright,” he managed, “alright, we won’t call any of our kids Buchanan. What about some of your men, then? What were their names, other than Jim?”

 

Bucky chuckled. “Dum Dum,” he said gleefully.

 

Steve lifted his head. “I’m not naming any child of mine Dum Dum.”

 

“It was a nickname!” Bucky defended. “His name was actually Tim, Timothy Dugan, alright?”

 

“Timothy’s not so bad,” Steve mused.

 

“And Gabe Jones. Gabriel.”

 

“I like Gabriel,” Steve added on. “Sounds Biblical.”

 

“Isn’t Timothy a Bible name too?”

 

“Yeah, but Gabriel was an angel,” Steve said. Bucky glanced down at him, smiling.

 

“Alright,” he said softly. “That would be fitting.”

 

Steve shifted to look at him better, confusion creasing his brow. “Why?”

 

Bucky nudged him gently. “‘Cause you’re an angel, babydoll. My avenging angel.”

 

Steve’s ears went hot. He dropped his gaze to his lap, then settled against Bucky’s shoulder again, a little smile curling his lip. Him, an angel, he who felt too sinful to set foot on the hallowed ground of a cemetery. He who felt the burning grip of holy iron fingers when a fallen saint tried to warn him long ago. If you’d thrown salt at him, it would have scorched him. He’d grown to fear the bowls of holy water at the entrance of the church. He’d stopped going to Mass entirely for fear of God’s wrath raining down on him. He had trembled in the confessions booth baring his soul to Father Elliot like a beaten dog, then had fled with shaking hands and the feeling of being watched. An angel. Wasn’t that a thought?

 

“I like Gabriel,” he said eventually.

 

“There you go,” Bucky answered. “Joseph and Gabriel. There’s two Biblical names for you, sweetheart.”

 

“They need middle names,” Steve reminded him.

 

Bucky cursed softly, then sent him a dry grin. “How’s about we have two girls and one boy, then?”

 

Steve shut his eyes. “Sounds good to me. ‘Course, they say it’s the father that determines the gender.”

 

Bucky elbowed him, but it only tickled and caused him to snort a bit. “Haha, very funny, daddy.”

 

“Oh, I’m daddy, am I?”

 

“Obviously, I’m pop.”

 

Steve rolled his eyes, though they were closed, and smiled to himself. He wasn’t an angel, but he could give Bucky a couple of real angels.

 

A minute later, Bucky slowed the truck to a stop. “We’re here, angel,” he murmured, drawing Steve from his drowsiness.

 

Steve lifted his head, blinking, until he caught sight of the house they’d arrived at and the lights turned on inside.

 

“I’ll go and check it out,” Bucky whispered in his ear. His bad ear, too, so Bucky probably wasn’t actually whispering. “You wait here, I’ll wave you in if it’s safe.”

 

Steve ignored this and opened his door. He heard Bucky groan, then his door open as Steve hopped out of the truck and stretched. Bucky shut his door and came around, draping an arm over his shoulders and pulling him in close, shutting Steve’s door himself. Steve tucked one arm behind his back and the other hand he fisted in the front of Bucky’s jacket; not his old jacket, Steve was still wearing that.

 

They went up to the front door, and it opened as they neared.

 

“Captain Barnes?” the man in the doorway called out softly, a faint accent rounding his consonants into his vowels, and so soft Steve hardly heard it.

 

“Yeah,” Bucky answered. “You Dr. Erskine?”

 

“Yes,” Erskine said, opening the storm door and stepping onto the front porch. “You must be tired, hungry.”

 

Bucky ushered Steve onto the porch, into the light, before going back for their duffle bag. Steve stood awkwardly, watching his Alpha pull it out of the bed of the truck and sling it over his back, while Dr. Erskine next to him cleaned his glasses on his smoking jacket.

 

“Come inside,” Dr. Erskine said as Bucky reached the porch again. He held the door open, waved them through, and shut it behind them, switching the locks and doing up the chain again.

 

Steve looked around, his arms wrapped around his body as his head turned slowly to examine the front room. Dr. Erskine stepped past them and through a set of double doors, and going by the tile on the other side, Steve guessed he’d stepped into the kitchen.

 

“I have tea,” Dr. Erskine called from behind the doors. “And food. Come in, come in.”

 

Bucky glanced at Steve, who shrugged, and put down the duffle by a set of stairs. Steve unfolded his arms to take Bucky’s hand as they followed Erskine into the kitchen. Inside, Dr. Erskine was filling a copper kettle at a sink. There was a window over the sink, with floral curtains covering it, a window tray with a few bunches of herbs, and past that, the counters were light wood that matched the cupboards and gleamed in the low light of the gas lantern on the kitchen table. Erskine switched off the tap and carried the kettle over to a wood stove, opening it up and setting a few logs over the faintly glowing coals. He coaxed a flame back to life, then shut the vent and adjusted the kettle on its burner. Erskine glanced at them, then snapped his fingers, muttering to himself, and went to the pantry.

 

“Food?” Erskine called over his shoulder. “I can make sandwiches while the water boils.”

 

“Yes, please,” Bucky answered.

 

Erskine brought out bread and canned beef from the pantry and Steve’s mouth watered just at the sight of spam. It had been so long since he’d had any kind of meat, only bread, cheese, and beans in the control of the Nazis, that the thought of eating spam didn’t turn his stomach. Even at the hotel, there had been little meat to spare thanks to rationing. It seemed Canada wasn’t as affected, or at least Dr. Erskine had ready access to foods such as spam.

 

“Agent Carter said I would be giving you my failed super soldier serum,” Erskine began.

 

“Well, it only failed to make the guy stronger, right?” Steve asked. “It made him healthier?”

 

“Well, yes,” Erskine mused. “What ailments are you looking to cure, Mr. Rogers?”

 

“A shit ton,” Steve answered with a dry laugh. “I’ve got anemia, abnormal heartbeat, asthma, can’t hear nothing out my left ear and most everything more than five feet away is blurry –”

 

“Since when couldn’t you hear?” Bucky piped up.

 

“Since I was about sixteen,” Steve told him, glancing away from Dr. Erskine. “My right ear’s not that much better.”

 

Bucky frowned to himself while Steve looked back to the doctor. “I’ve got rheumatoid arthritis and ulcers, and I get dizzy spells, a cold wind hits me wrong and I got pneumonia. My ma had diabetes, both my grandparents on her side had it, got a history of heart trouble –”

 

“Okay, okay, I see,” Erskine interrupted. He hummed, then pushed his chair back and came around the other side of the table. “Stand, if you would please.”

 

Steve rose to his feet. Dr. Erskine took both his arms and held them up away from his body, then hummed again to himself. “Scoliosis,” he said. “Flat feet. Your knees have the worst of the arthritis?”

 

“Uh, yeah? What’s scoliosis?”

 

“That would be the curvature of your spine,” Erskine clarified, pointing to his side. “What’s wrong with these ribs?”

 

“Might be cracked, or at least bruised,” Steve answered. “I dunno, they don’t feel broken.”

 

“From?”

 

“Boot.”

 

Erskine raised his eyes, then flicked his gaze over Steve’s shoulder.

 

“Belonging to a Nazi,” Steve added darkly.

 

Erskine made appeasing noises and looked over the rest of him. “This hand suffer the same fate as your ribs?” he asked, lifting Steve's still bandaged hand.

 

“Heel of the boot.”

 

“I hope the boot got its own,” Erskine commented.

 

“It did,” Bucky answered.

 

Erskine nodded acceptingly and stepped around to look at Steve’s back. He hummed again thoughtfully, then moved back to his front. Steve dropped his arms, feeling a bit uncomfortable.

 

“Wait here,” Erskine said, then left the room.

 

Steve looked at Bucky, who shrugged. The kettle whistled, and Steve walked around to lift it off the fire, using a towel that hung by the nearby cupboard. Erskine returned a second later carrying a scale. Steve felt Bucky’s hand slip around his waist and grip his hip.

 

“Please, step here,” Erskine instructed, setting the scale in front of Steve. He stepped onto it and Erskine began adjusting the meters. After a moment, he let out a long breath. “Mr. Rogers, you are dangerously underweight. I cannot perform the treatment safely until you’ve gained at least forty, if not fifty, pounds.”

 

“Shit,” Steve hissed. “That will take months, won’t it?”

 

“Two, at the least,” Erskine agreed. He motioned Steve off the scale, and while Erskine moved it away, Bucky pulled Steve down onto his right knee. “You will stay here until you are healthy enough to undergo the treatment, then you may begin looking for a place of your own.”

 

Erskine looked around the kitchen then, eyebrows furrowed. “Why is that kettle not boiling?”

 

“It did,” Steve said. Erskine crossed to the stove. “I took it off while you were out of the room.”

 

“Oh. Oh, well, that will explain it.”

 

Erskine used the towel to put the kettle back on the burner, muttering to himself, then started opening cupboards. “In light of this, I’m making stew.”

 

“Can we eat the spam anyway?” Bucky asked. “It’s been a while since we had anything, either of us.”

 

“Yes, yes, feel free,” Erskine called over his shoulder. He dug around in the back of his cupboard, then tugged out a heavy cast iron pot. “Any allergies, Mr. Rogers?”

 

“Uh, a lot?” Steve said.

 

“Food allergies,” Erskine added, setting the pot on the stove behind the kettle before fluttering back to his pantry. “Shellfish, tree nuts, peanuts?”

 

“Peanuts are fine. I’ve never had shellfish in my life,” Steve told him. “What counts as a tree nut?”

 

“Any nut but peanut, really.”

 

“I’ve eaten pecans and they haven’t hurt me.”

 

Erskine hummed again. “We’ll steer clear of the more common ones, the serum should cure any allergies you have anyway. I hope you are not vegetarian?”

 

“No, I could never afford to be that picky.”

 

“Good! Meat is what you need, and lots of it.”

 

Steve raised his eyebrows. “How are you gonna get lots of meat to feed me in the middle of ration-times?”

 

Erskine made a clucking noise that had Steve and Bucky exchanging confused glances. He withdrew from the pantry carrying several cans of spam and tins of broth.

 

“Hopefully,” he said, walking back over to the stove, “black market. For now, I make you goulash with spam.”

 

Erskine looked slightly displeased at the idea. Steve looked at Bucky, who shrugged and popped open the tin of spam on the table.

 

“Goulash will get you up to a healthy weight,” Erskine said from the stove. The kettle began to whistle again, yet the doctor didn’t seem to notice. “You, too, Captain, you are remarkably thin for your height.”

 

Steve prodded Bucky in the ribs, but only managed to make him squirm. He shrugged and settled back against his chest, ready to take a nap, only for Bucky to poke him awake and hold a fingerful of spam to his lips.

 

Steve gave him a reproachful look and pointedly did not open his mouth. Bucky raised his eyebrows and prodded him in the face with a finger not holding spam. “You heard the doc,” he said.

 

“It’s late,” Steve whined, “I want to sleep, not eat.”

 

“What? Late? What’s the time?” Erskine said across the kitchen. “Oh, good Lord, it’s past midnight! Why am I cooking now? I cook later, you two go sleep, the guest room is upstairs, first door on the left, where did I put that tea?”

 

Steve raised his eyebrows at Bucky. “See, it’s time for bed.”

 

Bucky looked at the lump of spam on his finger. “I hate spam,” he muttered mournfully.

 

Steve rolled his eyes, then grabbed Bucky’s hand and stuck the fingerful of canned beef in his mouth. He wrinkled his nose at the texture, swallowing it hastily, but sucked his finger clean. He plucked Bucky’s finger out of his mouth, looking back to find his face gone slack. Steve raised his eyebrows again and Bucky cleared his throat.

 

“Oh, there it is, do you want tea before bed?”

 

“I think we’re good,” Bucky answered, shifting in the chair.

 

Steve abruptly smiled and ducked his head into Bucky’s neck, giggling lightly. He was tired and had to gain forty or fifty pounds to be given a failed super soldier serum so he could have Bucky’s children and Bucky had a blossoming erection from Steve licking spam off his finger. Somehow his exhaustion made that funnier than it ought to have been.

 

“Alright, alright, I’ll have tea by myself. Oh, there’s the cat, I’ll have tea with the cat. Did you smell the spam? Well, I won’t waste spam on you, little lady, you have food.”

 

Steve giggled more and Bucky pushed him to his feet. Erskine was petting the cat, still ignoring the kettle whistling, and Bucky guided Steve from the kitchen, calling a half-hearted “Night, doc!” over his shoulder.

 

At the stairs, Bucky picked up the duffle bag in one arm and Steve in the other, who just kept laughing.

 

“Sleep well, Mr. Rogers, Captain Barnes!” Dr. Erskine bade them.

 

“Goodnight, Dr. Erskine!” Steve called back, at least trying to be grateful to their host. Bucky had him draped over his shoulder, so he propped his chin up on a palm and his elbow on Bucky’s back, closing his eyes for a quick nap on the way upstairs.

 

“On the left?” Bucky said, mounting the first-floor landing.

 

“Mhmm,” Steve agreed vaguely. He was rapidly falling asleep.

 

Bucky opened the guest room door somehow, and Steve shut it behind them. The duffle bag was abandoned quickly and Bucky tossed Steve gently onto the bed. Steve started giggling again, while Bucky crawled on top of him and started kissing his neck.

 

“Hey, be serious here, doll,” Bucky chided.

 

“I’m tired,” Steve told him, lacing his fingers through Bucky’s hair. “Fuck me to sleep, Buck.”

 

Bucky’s eyes went very wide, as did his pupils. Steve giggled again and Bucky dropped his mouth to swallow his laughter. Steve kept giggling anyway, and after a second, Bucky pulled back to drop his head onto the bed beside Steve’s and laugh himself.

 

“Aw, no, don’t stop,” Steve told him, then hiccuped. “C’mon, Bucky, you gotta get a lotta practice in, ‘member?”

 

Bucky snorted, then kissed his ear. “I think my first few tries proved I’m a born natural.”

 

Steve giggled a bit more, until something occurred to him and his giggles abated. Bucky lifted his head, eyebrows furrowed, and Steve pushed his hands back into Bucky’s hair.

 

“Was that your first…” he started. “When we…?”

 

“First what?” Bucky asked.

 

Steve licked his lips and Bucky’s eyes flicked down to them. “First time having sex,” Steve clarified.

 

Bucky’s cheeks went ruddy as his gaze jerked back up to meet Steve’s. “Uh,” he said.

 

“It was!” Steve gasped. “Bucky, why didn’t you say? I would’ve –”

 

Bucky cut him off with a kiss. “‘Cause you would’ve gone and made a fuss, that’s why, and I wanted to focus on you, alright?” Bucky nuzzled down the side of his neck and kissed over his scent gland.

 

Steve shivered under him, forgetting his protests.

 

“‘Sides," Bucky murmured, "anything involving you’s perfect enough for me.”

 

“You’re ridiculous,” Steve muttered. “Completely looney.”

 

“Eh, I’ll live with it,” Bucky said, then parted his mouth over the scent gland in Steve’s neck and began to suck.

 

Steve let out a sharp breath and jerked his knees up to frame Bucky’s hips, seeking friction. Bucky pressed down on him and swept his tongue over his scent gland, bringing another breathy noise from Steve’s lips.

 

“When we gonna do this, doll?” Bucky whispered into his neck.

 

“Right now?” Steve suggested hopefully.

 

Bucky let out a groan and sucked new marks on Steve's neck.

 

“Don’t make me wait much longer, Barnes,” Steve added.

 

“Gonna be the death of me, babydoll,” Bucky murmured, starting to undo the buttons of his shirt. “Gonna give me a heart attack one day.”

 

“Not now, old man,” Steve protested weakly.

 

“I’m a year older than you, jackass,” Bucky laughed. Steve giggled again. “Hey, don’t you start that again.”

 

“I’m gonna fall asleep soon if _you_ don’t get started,” Steve said, already dropping his head onto the mattress to bare his throat. “C’mon, Buck,” he added softly, “bite me.”

 

Bucky growled into his neck and hastened in unbuttoning Steve’s shirt. He closed his mouth over Steve’s scent gland and sucked harder; Steve pressed his head back, then threw his legs over Bucky’s back in a desperate need to relieve growing pressure. Bucky yanked the sleeves off of him, then lifted his mouth only to tug his shirt, completely buttoned, over his head and throw it across the room. Steve reached for his belt, unbuckling it and tugging on the zipper at the same time.

 

Bucky dropped his hands to the bed, framing Steve’s head, and attacked his lips in a hot kiss. Steve moaned into his mouth, pushing at the waistband of Bucky’s trousers and arching his back. He could feel the wet spot in his briefs and knew Bucky could smell it. He could smell the arousal growing on his Alpha, and it only made him more eager.

 

Bucky wasted no time in tossing away his trousers and tugging off Steve’s. He put one hand on the back of Steve’s neck to kiss him and the other between his legs. Within seconds, Steve was squirming, panting and mindless but for Bucky’s fingers preparing him. Bucky’s mouth shifted from his neck to his lips to his neck again, as though he couldn’t pick between his scent gland and his lips; to be fair, Steve couldn’t decide which he wanted Bucky to devote his attention to either. He felt sure there were hickeys blooming all over his skin, but the idea of Bucky’s lips leaving marks only excited him further. Not long now, and he’d have a permanent mark from Bucky’s lips. Forever was only a moment away, and Steve had never felt so impatient in his life.

 

“C’mon,” he urged Bucky, “get in me already, Buck, I’m good, I can take it –”

 

“You ain’t rushing me, pretty,” Bucky mumbled back, but he withdrew his hand.

 

Steve clenched down on nothing and whined, but Bucky was looking at his wet hand. They made eye contact for a second, then Bucky brought his fingers up to his mouth and licked the slick off of one. He let out a low noise, eyes fluttering shut, then kissed Steve’s mouth hard once before shimmying down the bed. Steve lifted onto his elbows to watch what he was doing, confused, until Bucky settled between his legs and shot him a grin.

 

“You taste like cookie dough, y’know?” he said, and dropped his head.

 

Steve fell back, lifting his knees again as he gasped at Bucky’s tongue. Nobody had ever done _this_ to him before either; Steve wondered if it was possible to become addicted to a feeling instantly like this. Bucky’s hands squeezed his thighs, he hummed into the act and sent vibrations through Steve’s entire body that had his eyes fluttering shut. He could practically smell Bucky’s knot growing, and as amazing as this was, he wanted it and he wanted it _now._

 

“Buck, Bucky, c’mon,” Steve whined. “Fuck me, bite me, please, Bucky –” Bucky only worked a finger in with his tongue. Steve groaned and arched into his mouth. “‘M gonna come, ‘m gonna come if you don’t stop, I want you to bite me, Buck, c’mon…”

 

“One day,” Bucky growled, kissed the inside of his thigh and then up the V of his hips, “I’m gonna eat you out until you come, baby. I wanna know what you taste like coming.”

 

Steve let out another whine, then Bucky was blanketing his body again and kissing his mouth; his tongue tasted sweet, even to Steve, but he wanted Bucky’s knot and he still didn’t have it. He squirmed on Bucky’s fingers and whined again, reaching up to grab Bucky’s hair and fist his fingers in it. Bucky sucked hard on his tongue, then pulled his mouth away to suck on his scent gland, leaving Steve gasping.

 

“C’mon,” he urged, and Bucky pulled his hand back again. “Bucky, fuck m– _oh!_ ”

 

Bucky groaned into Steve’s neck. Steve was beyond words at that point, a combination of the pleasure and the day’s exhaustion reducing him only to panting and breathy moans while Bucky began to fuck him in earnest. No, not fuck him; Bucky’s motions were too tender and intimate to be called fucking. This was not lust, this was not a need to get off with the nearest available resource, this was not just fucking. Bucky made love to him. His Alpha’s lips sucked on the scent gland in his neck, his teeth scraping the skin, until finally, when Steve’s pleasure was at its highest –

 

Bucky clamped his teeth down hard on Steve’s scent gland, broke the skin and pierced the gland itself. Steve clapped a hand over his own mouth to keep from screaming as he came harder than he’d ever done in his life. (Not that he’d had many excellent orgasms before Bucky, but they’d had a month to practice this.) His mind blacked out and Steve was left floating.

 

He was vaguely aware of Bucky’s groans, of his mouth sucking on Steve’s neck still with his teeth still embedded in his scent gland, of Bucky’s heavy weight falling on him as he collapsed after his orgasm and his knot locking them together. Steve was floating, blissful and whole, and steadily, he became aware of a sensation of pride that wasn’t his own.

 

They might not have had a wedding, like most couples did before bonding, but after what they’d been through, it didn’t much matter. It felt plenty like a wedding night to Steve. As Bucky’s saliva saturated his scent gland, mixing with Steve’s pheromones, the two of them became bonded for life. No more thrift shop, no more pressing noses against the window. Blissful and complete.

 

It felt like absolution.

 

Steve floated all the way from Bucky unclamping his jaw and licking over the mark on his neck, to his Alpha wiping them both clean with a soft cloth, to Bucky tucking him in his arms and to falling asleep. He was vaguely aware of Bucky kissing his forehead and whispering: “I love you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _ah, canada. and yes, that miscarriage tag is staring you in the face._
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> _so, tumblr's adult content purge. what are we doing? **for one** , the cap fandom is banding together and has created a google spreadsheet for where to look if tumblr goes belly-up. [find notlucy's post on it here](https://notlucy.tumblr.com/post/180762562322/cap-fandom-shared-contact-list). **for two** , remember that the reason this is happening is bc tumblr has a huge problem with actual child pornography. don't panic, losing the ability to share smutty fanart on tumblr is not the end of the world and tbh it is worth it to stop pedophiles/child pornographers. **for three** , it may be that this is not permanent. possibly this is an attempt to wipe the slate completely clean so we can start again. i highly recommend that all tumblr users back up their blogs (go into blog settings probs only on desktop and scroll down to the bottom, it will be under visibility and blocked tumblrs) and make sure that they have cross-posted their own original content. find your favorite tumblr users and see where they're taking their content after this. fandoms survived the jump from LJ to tumblr, we can survive the jump from tumblr elsewhere. [dreamwidth](https://www.dreamwidth.org/) or [wordpress](https://wordpress.com/) are options. find out where your circles are going and follow them._
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> _if you want to find me in case fandom-tumblr dies, my information is over in the Cap Lifeboat spreadsheet with so many other creators, so do yourself a favor and go check it out and add your information. this is serious, a lot of fan content creators are deleting NSFW tumblr posts and blogs, and tbh, i gotta purge my brand new sideblog if i want to be able to keep the url_


	11. Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _things are looking up_

**[march 26th, 1945]**

 

“One hundred and twenty pounds,” Dr. Erskine announced. Steve jumped off the scale and flung his arms around Bucky’s neck with a whoop; Bucky lifted him off his feet and spun him around once, cheering, too. “Yes, yes, congratulations, Steven, well done, very well done. I officially declare you at a healthy weight. Though, a little more wouldn’t hurt…”

 

Steve was much too busy kissing Bucky to listen, though Doc didn’t seem to mind. Or perhaps he hadn’t even noticed. Dr. Erskine got very oblivious at times.

 

In the past two months they’d been staying with the doctor, for example, he hadn’t ever realized that they had not yet been bonded the night they arrived but were the following morning. Steve had been more than a little incredulous at that.

 

The story they’d come up with, to explain to nosy neighbors, was that Dr. Erskine, renamed Dr. Andrew Eton in his own hiding, was Steve’s uncle on his mother’s side. He and Bucky had lived in the south of the country, too close to the American border, and had decided to move to Montreal when the Nazis breached Maine. Bucky was a mechanic, they said, and Steve was a clerk. Erskine was opening a family practice, even, and had hired Steve as a receptionist, jokingly calling it blatant nepotism in front of neighbors. Bucky was still looking for a garage where enough people spoke enough English, as neither of them spoke French. There was an influx of Americans in the city, fleeing the Nazis, so it would hopefully not be long before he had a job, too, and not long after that that they would be living on their own.

 

“When can we do the treatment?” Steve asked Doc a minute later when he was done kissing Bucky.

 

“This week,” Doc answered. “My new practice opens next week, we should get it done before that.”

 

“Sounds great,” Steve said. Bucky grinned into his hair.

 

Doc clapped his hands together and made for the kitchen. “Now, come and sit, we’ll have lunch and I’ll go over everything that will happen.”

 

He pointed a finger over his shoulder at them abruptly. “Namely, you stay on your birth control for at least six months to let your body adjust.”

 

“Fine,” Steve said, though Bucky was blushing and chuckling into his hair. “We’ll have to get settled before we have kids anyway.”

 

Doc gave a satisfied nod and set about making tea. Bucky and Steve entered the kitchen behind him, Bucky sitting down in a chair and Steve sitting on his right knee, as always. Bucky locked his arms around Steve’s waist and kissed the back of his neck, one palm pressed flat to his stomach.

 

Doc started making tea, though he wasn’t likely to finish making it, as he started outlining the procedure. Steve listened, flicking Bucky’s hands away whenever they tried to stray under his shirt, responding and asking questions to make sure he knew everything he was getting into. Dr. Erskine had few concerns about complications, the previous trial had gone fine and its test subject was living a completely normal and healthy life now.

 

“You likely will find that your hearing is sensitive for the first few days,” Doc said at one point.

 

“I am not quite sure what it will do for your scoliosis, though,” he mused at another.

 

“Scoliosis won’t hurt a pregnancy, though, right?” Steve asked at that comment.

 

“No, I shouldn’t think so,” Doc answered. “Not in your case. It might make your life more difficult, but it shouldn’t hurt your child.”

 

Bucky kissed the mark on Steve’s neck at that. Steve tried and failed to suppress the shiver in response, and Bucky pressed his lips against his ear to murmur: “We’ll just be careful.”

 

Eventually: “I believe that is everything,” Doc sighed. “Do you have any more questions?”

 

“Yeah, when do we start?”

 

**[march 28th, 1945]**

 

Steve took a deep breath, lying on his back in a reclining chair like a dentist’s, wearing a sleeveless shirt and pants that hung loosely on his body. He was chilly, but more with nerves than the air. Doc was off to the side, preparing the vials of serum, and Bucky sat in a folding chair next to him, holding his hand.

 

“You got this, babydoll, you’re gonna be great,” Bucky kept saying. Steve kept swallowing, his mouth dry as he hadn’t been allowed to drink or eat anything leading up to the procedure. “You ready, baby?”

 

“Yes, are you ready, Steven?” Doc asked, holding the first vial of the serum.

 

“Born ready,” Steve muttered. Bucky squeezed his hand.

 

“It will feel cold,” Doc said. The needle pierced his arm and Steve winced, squeezing his eyes shut at the cold, dull ache spreading through his arm. It faded after a second and he relaxed.

 

“That wasn’t so bad,” he mumbled.

 

Doc raised his eyebrows at him. “That was penicillin,” he said.

 

Steve heard Bucky snigger and dug his nails into Bucky’s hand weakly in retaliation. Bucky yelped a little and Steve sniggered back.

 

“Wait ‘til you’re holding my hand through labor,” Steve hissed out of the corner of his mouth. He glanced at Bucky and smiled, pleased, at his pale face.

 

“Next one,” Doc announced. Steve squeezed Bucky’s hand hard again.

 

This one burned on its way in. Steve found himself struggling to catch his breath, his head spinning and he squeezed his eyes shut at the abrupt nausea turning his stomach. The serum spread like fire through his blood, until the goosebumps on his skin were erupting in sensation. He felt Bucky’s breath falling on his arm, heard Erskine’s shoes echoing as he moved, saw the blood pulsing in his eyelids.

 

“Number two,” Doc’s voice drifted in.

 

The fire was quenched just as abruptly as it came, or maybe it took minutes. Regardless, his head stopped spinning and his gut seized up as icy cold took over him. Bucky’s breath was hot, and he could hear him breathing now. Doc’s footsteps boomed. His eyelids flashed red and yellow.

 

“Number three,” Doc said somewhere far away.

 

The ice faded, and his body felt distant. It ached; his heart was beating painfully fast, his lungs burned with every breath, his head pounded, his joints screamed in agony, but it was all at the same time something far removed from his consciousness, like it was a story being read to him.

 

 _“The pain was getting so intense, Steve thought he might combust from it all,”_ his mother’s voice came to him from far, far away. _“You’re doing very well, darling, you’re almost done.”_

 

“Last one,” Doc’s voice said, muffled like it was underwater or in his left ear.

 

“You’re doing so good, baby, you’re almost there, you got this,” Bucky’s muffled voice came.

 

 _“With that, Steve felt a sensation akin to acid entering his body,”_ his mother read to him. He still felt so very far away, he hardly felt any pain at all and at the same time felt like he might combust from it all. _“It raced and roared through his veins, filling his every cell, his every pore, altering his tissues, from his defective lungs to his abnormal heart to the arthritis in his joints. And just as quickly as it all started, it stopped.”_

 

“Steve? You there, babydoll?”

 

Steve drew in a shaky breath. His mother whispered: _“We love you, darling,”_ and then her voice faded.

 

“If you can hear me, nod your head, Steven.”

 

He tried to nod. He was still drifting somewhere away from his body; not like he did when Bucky brought him to that far away place, not above, but below his consciousness.

 

“How do you feel, Steven?”

 

Steve intended to raise his hand and give it a wobble, a so-so motion, but his arms felt like lead. Instead, he tried to speak, and his breath was too weak to form words. Bucky’s fingers swept over his forehead, brushing away his hair, and Steve struggled to open his eyes.

 

“Hey,” Bucky whispered in his ear, “you with us, angel?”

 

Steve nodded slowly. Bucky’s lips pressed to his forehead.

 

“Can you tap a finger for me?” Doc asked. Their voices were getting closer, Steve thought vaguely.

 

Steve thought about it, then thought about it hard, and couldn’t.

 

“Don’t strain yourself,” Doc told him.

 

Steve thought not as hard. His finger twitched.

 

“Very good,” Doc said. His voice was very clear all of a sudden. “I would like you to tap your finger once for yes and twice for no. Do you feel any pain?”

 

Steve considered the question and searched his body for any ache or discomfort. He found none and tapped his finger twice.

 

“Excellent,” Doc said. “Do you feel any different?”

 

Steve considered this, too, and then realized he had started to hum a little. He swallowed with difficulty and tried using his voice again. It came out as a soft sigh, barely more than an exhale, but it was better than a minute earlier. His consciousness was rising now, he was becoming more aware of his body and his surroundings, and he realized then that he really did feel no pain or discomfort. His knees weren’t aching, his fingers and thumbs felt numb but fine.

 

He tapped his finger once.

 

“What sort of different?”

 

Steve swallowed again, then licked his lips. “Don’t hurt,” he said after a long second.

 

“That’s different?”

 

Steve nodded. Bucky squeezed his hand. With that, his consciousness came rushing back in and he fell back into his body with a gasp. Doc’s hands flew out to steady him as he sat up, Bucky’s arms beating him to it to pull him into a hug, and Steve started to suck in air like he’d been drowning moments before.

 

“Stevie, sweetheart, you’re okay, slow down, deep breath, hold it for a second, let it out, hold it, deep breath, hold it –”

 

Bucky’s voice was loving but commanding; Steve hardly recognized that Bucky was using an Alpha tone on him. Bucky was trying to guide him through an asthma attack, and the way Steve was half hyperventilating, he should have already fallen into an asthma attack, but his lungs felt clear and strong as he gulped in air under Bucky’s orders, held it for a beat, and let it out fully.

 

“There you go, doll, you’re okay, deep breaths, deep breaths, Stevie –”

 

“‘M okay,” Steve rasped. Bucky kissed his temple, his hands rubbing circles into his chest and back. “I’m okay,” he repeated, then blinked and looked around. He squinted at the far wall, at a chart with letters.

 

“Whoa,” Steve mumbled.

 

Doc appeared in his vision. “Can you read the fifth row for me?” he asked, pointing to the chart.

 

“F, L, Z, N, W, U,” Steve said.

 

“What about the sixth?”

 

“T, 8, S, E, D, V, C, O, 2,” Steve mumbled.

 

Doc grinned. “Well, that would be your vision fixed.”

 

Steve gaped at the chart. He could even make out the very bottom row.

 

Bucky’s hands stilled in their motions, and Steve dropped his gaze to look at his hands. He grabbed Bucky’s hand and let out a soft breath, tracing with his finger the lines of Bucky’s palm, seeing the textures of the calluses on his hands where before he could only feel them – Steve could even see the whorls of his fingerprints.

 

“How about your hearing?” Doc asked.

 

Steve glanced over to his left, then shrugged. “I dunno, say something real quiet.”

 

Doc took a step back. “Repeat this, then,” he said normally, then, a voice barely above a whisper: “Train A leaves Penn Station traveling 20 miles per hour at eleven oh two in the morning.”

 

Steve grinned and repeated it.

 

“I didn’t even hear him,” Bucky said in awe.

 

“Well, I expect that’s due to repeated exposure to gunfire and explosions,” Doc quipped.

 

Steve grinned at Bucky and prodded him. “My hearing’s better than yours,” he said with glee.

 

Bucky rolled his eyes. “Alright, alright, laugh it up, doll, I’m an old man.”

 

Steve laughed, indeed, and planted a kiss on Bucky’s mouth. Then he let out an exclamation of wonder and pulled back to study the stubble on his jaw. Bucky laughed and cupped the back of his neck, squeezing it gently. Steve let out a hum and dropped against Bucky’s shoulder.

 

“That’s new,” Bucky murmured. His breath ghosted over Steve’s ear, but his whisper, his soft voice, sent chills down his spine.

 

“How does your bond feel?” Doc asked behind him.

 

Steve felt a moment’s panic, then realized that Bucky had too and it vanished just as quickly. “Fine,” he said.

 

“Same as it should,” Bucky added.

 

“Very good,” Doc said. Steve lifted his head from Bucky’s shoulder, yawning. “You should rest,” Doc added, “and rest often. Here, let’s get back to my house, now.”

 

“It was faster than I thought it would be,” Steve said as Bucky helped him into his jacket, Bucky’s old jacket. “Thought it would take hours, that was, what, five minutes?”

 

Bucky raised his eyebrows at Steve. “We’ve been here for hours,” he said.

 

Steve felt his mouth slip open.

 

“Lack of comprehension of time was to be expected,” Doc threw in.

 

“Oh,” Steve said. Bucky shrugged.

 

Doc locked the office up behind them as they left, and walking to the car to return home, Steve saw the sun setting. It had been morning when they arrived.

 

“Wow,” he murmured to himself, now just staring at the sunset. All the colors were more vibrant that he ever thought they could be. Was that yellow? Surely that had to be liquid gold coating the skies.

 

“C’mon, Stevie,” Bucky murmured in his ear. Steve shivered again. “Let’s get you home.”

 

Steve fell asleep in the car, waking only briefly when Bucky lifted him into his arms, cradling him, and then again when Bucky laid him in bed. He curled into Bucky when his Alpha lay down beside him, slipping rapidly into proper sleep. He heard a quiet _I love you_ in his ear just as he fell asleep.

 

He woke better rested than he’d ever been before the next morning. Steve stretched, yawning wide like a cat, and settled happily against Bucky’s chest.

 

“Morning,” he said faintly.

 

“Mornin’, pretty,” Bucky mumbled in response. Steve felt a hand press to the back of his neck and squeeze lightly; he let out a long exhale and slid closer to Bucky, feeling his entire body relaxing a little deeper. He felt a little out of his head, too, just from Bucky squeezing his neck.

 

Abruptly, Steve wondered what else his sickly body had caused him to miss out on. Would food taste better? Would fabrics feel softer under his hands? Would scents smell brighter? Steve took a long inhale, nose buried in Bucky’s neck, but found it only as intense as before. Would sex be better, he wondered?

 

Steve wormed his hands down the back of Bucky’s pajama pants and he reached up to press his lips against Bucky’s. His Alpha hummed sleepily and squeezed the back of his neck again. Steve was suddenly very aware of his clothing, and how much he wanted it off.

 

“Buck,” Steve whispered, “wake up.”

 

Bucky opened one eye. “Wha’ for?” he grumbled, shutting it again.

 

“Knot me,” Steve asked quietly, grinning.

 

Bucky’s eyes both opened at that, opened very wide. Then, causing Steve’s grin to drop, he scowled. “Dammit,” he muttered.

 

“What?” Steve spluttered, recoiling. That hurt, actually, Bucky wasn’t supposed to scowl in response to Steve wanting sex, Bucky was supposed to growl and kiss him and make him squirm, was something wrong with him –?

 

Bucky covered Steve’s mouth with his, squeezing his neck. Steve’s mind blanked and he exhaled gently.

 

“Doc said no sex for a week,” Bucky mumbled.

 

“Oh,” Steve said.

 

“Yeah,” Bucky sighed; his scowl wasn’t a scowl at all, it was a pout.

 

“Dammit,” Steve echoed.

 

Bucky kissed his nose. “We can make it seven days, pretty.”

 

Steve squirmed a little. “We won’t if you keep calling me pretty,” he grumbled. Bucky laughed lightly and kissed the spot between his eyebrows.

 

“Gives you something to look forward to, don’t it?” Bucky murmured. “Go back to sleep, angel. Love you.”

 

Bucky squeezed the back of his neck gently. Steve inhaled deeply, then fell asleep again, thinking about what it was going to feel like when Bucky squeezed the back of his neck while he was buried to the hilt in Steve’s ass.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _and you know what they say about what goes up_


	12. Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _this chapter contains my all-time favorite line that i've ever written, surpassing "it's ma dick" from edges blurred. but only by a little bit. this is also one of lexi's favorite chapters, i think. i'll let you know why in the end notes tho, no spoilers for now. i hope your week is going well so far, and happy holidays everyone! how was y'all's hanukkah? whoever is celebrating kwanzaa, i hope it goes well! and christmas/newtonmas, too. please enjoy this chapter!_

**[april 20th, 1945]**

 

Steve remembered why he had hated working as a secretary, and it wasn’t just the fact that office wear for Omegas of all genders was restricted to skirts. Sure, being a receptionist for a GP meant there were plenty of moms with cute kids – Steve had a bad case of maternity, he wasn’t going to deny it – to even out the shitty portions, but he still had to schedule appointments.

 

“How about the twelfth at nine?” he asked Mrs. Tiller.

 

“Hmm, no, my mother-in-law will be visiting that day.”

 

“The week after at eleven?” he suggested instead.

 

Mrs. Tiller clucked her tongue. Steve kind of wanted to scream at her to just pick a fucking day. “No, I don’t think so.”

 

“The next available Monday appointment Dr. Eton has between nine and eleven is in October,” Steve told her. That probably wasn’t true, though. Doc was the only family doctor in the area who would speak English readily, but he wasn’t that popular yet. It was just five fifty-seven and he wanted to go home.

 

“Fine, fine, the nineteenth at eleven,” Mrs. Tiller sighed, already marking it down in her day planner.

 

Steve mouthed _Thank you_ at his appointments book so she couldn’t see and wrote it down. He wrote out a card for her, because Doc told him to write up cards for everyone, and handed it to her. “Enjoy the rest of your day, Mrs. Tiller,” he said pleasantly.

 

“Thank you, Mr. Rogers,” Mrs. Tiller said, tucking the card into her handbag. “Have a lovely evening.”

 

Steve smiled tightly at her as she walked out, dragging her half-asleep ten-year-old, who had already devoured his piece of penny candy, along behind her, leaving the waiting room empty. Steve looked at the clock on his desk, waiting for it to strike six. He twiddled his thumbs, and the second the hour hand shifted onto the six, he jumped up to go and lock the office doors.

 

“Quitting time, Doc!” he called towards the back.

 

Annie Benson, the nurse, walked out and gave him a wave. “See you Monday, Steve,” she said, sounding tired but pleased to be heading home. Steve unlocked the door for her, then locked it again behind her. He let out a very long breath, then walked into the back to find Doc.

 

Erskine was in his office, frowning at something. Steve knocked on the door to catch his attention, then stepped inside.

 

“Time to go?” he reminded him.

 

“Hmm?” Doc said, looking up. He glanced at a clock, then let out a noise of acceptance and folded up the paper he’d been reading; Steve caught a glimpse of the headline and curled his hands into fists, _CAPTAIN AMERICA MEMORIAL DEDICATED BY HIS PARENTS._ “Yes, yes, let’s go then.”

 

Steve waited while Doc got up and shrugged off his white coat, then stepped forward and picked up the paper. It was a copy of the _Times_ , hence the English and not French, dated the day before. There was a photograph of Mrs. Barnes dabbing at her eyes, Mr. Barnes standing at her side looking stoic and mournful, in front of a vast stone obelisk. The papers had started calling Bucky Captain America after the Nazis were driven out of New York indefinitely in early March. Bucky thought it was horseshit, and Steve had made sure to say _God Bless America_ the next time Bucky had gone down on him. (It had earned him a light pinch on the thigh that tickled more than anything else, but had definitely been worth it.)

 

Looking at Bucky’s parents, Steve felt no mirth. He wondered if Mrs. Barnes’s tears were genuine.

 

He wondered if that made him an awful person.

 

“Let’s go,” Doc said, catching Steve’s attention. “Captain America is waiting.”

 

Steve laughed and dropped the paper onto Doc’s desk. Doc clapped him on the shoulder, chuckling to himself, and let Steve lead out of the office to the waiting room. Steve turned off lights as they went, then unlocked the front doors. Dr. Erskine walked out, and Steve locked them again. In the little parking lot, Bucky waved to them, standing against the beat-up pickup Agent Falsworth had left them with three months previous.

 

Steve got a kiss from him while Doc climbed into the passenger side of the cab. Bucky squeezed his waist, then lifted him into the cab of the truck; it made Steve laugh, though it was completely unnecessary. Bucky gave him a wink and a grin as he climbed in next to him, shutting his door and cranking the engine.

 

“Guess what,” he said, changing gears.

 

“Freud came back from the dead,” Doc guessed.

 

“What?” Bucky said, pausing to gape at Doc. “Who even is that?”

 

“An old school friend,” Doc sighed. “Absolutely ridiculous man, he once theorized that Omegas are fragile because they have penis envy.”

 

Steve raised his eyebrows, then looked at his own lap. “Nah,” he decided. “I’m good.”

 

Bucky snorted.

 

“He also didn’t believe in male Omegas, as you can tell,” Doc added. Steve rolled his eyes and Bucky laughed harder. “Though, lucky for us, it appears he is not back from dead! What is your actual news, Bucky?”

 

Bucky grinned at them, well, mainly at Steve. “That garage two blocks down, Romanoff and Sons, they hired me,” he said gleefully. “I start Monday.”

 

Steve let out a victorious whoop and kissed Bucky soundly. Doc clapped behind him. “Wonderful, wonderful!” he heard him saying.

 

Bucky pulled back from Steve’s kiss with an even wider grin. “Guess what else?”

 

“What?” Steve asked, not bothering with guessing.

 

“Old man Romanoff’s selling his old house ‘cause he’s moving in with his oldest son,” Bucky answered. “It’s right around the corner from the garage, _and_ from Doc’s practice.”

 

“Are you serious?” Steve said.

 

“As the plague,” Bucky told him, kissing his forehead with a loud smack. “We can go see it tomorrow.”

 

“Even more wonderful!” Doc called, then added quickly: “Not that I am happy to see you leave, but you do get quite loud in the evenings.”

 

Steve flushed and hid his face in Bucky’s shoulder. “Blame him,” he mumbled, embarrassed.

 

“Me?” Bucky spluttered. “You’re the loud one!”

 

“It is the bedsprings that are loud,” Doc sighed. “So, both of you are to blame. Or perhaps it is the fault of my furniture, which would put the blame on me…”

 

Bucky laughed nervously, Steve decided to just stay hidden in Bucky’s shoulder. Doc patted him on the back, chuckling to himself, and Bucky shook his head before reversing from the parking lot.

 

After supper, Bucky and Steve lay in bed; Steve with his head on Bucky’s shoulder and one arm flung over his waist, playing with the wispy hair on his chest with a finger, Bucky with one arm wrapped around Steve’s waist and the other lying on the pillow above his head. Steve was about ready to fall asleep, he was always sleepy after sex.

 

“Old man Romanoff said we could see the house around ten,” Bucky spoke. Steve hummed to indicate he was listening. “Then, after, we’re invited to lunch with the family.”

 

Steve lifted his head, propping his chin on Bucky’s shoulder. “How big’s the family?” he asked.

 

“Seven sons,” Bucky said. Steve’s eyes went wide. “Two girls. The sons are all married and have kids of their own except one, one daughter’s still a teen and the other’s engaged.”

 

“Nine kids,” Steve muttered vaguely. “We’re not having nine kids.”

 

Bucky let out a laugh. Steve tugged lightly on a hair and it cut into a yelp. “Four, at the most!” Steve said warningly, and Bucky just laughed again. “I’m serious!” Steve added, though he was smiling, too.

 

Bucky abruptly flipped them, putting Steve on his back and hovering over him. “Four,” he agreed, and kissed him. Steve hummed happily, threading his fingers into Bucky’s hair.

 

They kissed lazily for a while, Bucky ending it with a light peck to the mark on Steve’s neck. Bucky settled onto his side, pulling Steve against his chest, nuzzled his hair and exhaled deeply. Steve shut his eyes, kissing the dip of Bucky’s clavicle, and exhaled deeply, too.

 

“Go to sleep, sweetheart,” Bucky murmured. “Love you.”

 

“Love you, too,” Steve mumbled happily.

 

The next day, they stood in front of a modest, three-story brownstone duplex. The steps of the house were red-brick with wrought iron handrails and the front door had a brass knocker held in a lion’s mouth. There was an alley on the left, another house on the right, and clotheslines hung over the alley’s gap. Old Man Romanoff, who told Steve to call him that or Pa Romanoff, stood at their side with his arms crossed over his potbelly.

 

“What you think?” Old Man Romanoff asked, his accent turning the _‘th’_ of _think_ into a _z._

 

“It’s amazing,” Steve said with a wide grin.

 

“Perfect,” Bucky agreed.

 

“Want to see inside before you decide?” Old Man Romanoff prompted with a chuckle, smiling just as wide as them.

 

Steve nodded, holding onto Bucky’s jacket with white knuckles in his excitement. Old Man Romanoff drew out a ring of keys, leading them up the new brick steps to unlock the door. He waved them in and Steve let out a soft breath, Bucky, beside him, whistled.

 

The house had a fairly open layout; the mudroom at the entrance lead to a sitting room that had three windows in total – and nice, big bay windows, too –, with a kitchen and dining room on the far end. Stairs lead up from the mudroom, and Steve could see two doors under the stairs that likely lead to a pantry and a powder room. He drifted away from Bucky to look around; the sitting room had light blue carpet, the walls papered with white and blue stripes. The kitchen had a tile floor, the grout yellowed with age, but Steve wouldn’t mind that as long as it was still sturdy. The counters were a light wood that matched the cabinets, the stove looked new; it was a gas-fed one, not a wood stove.

 

“My son is installing refrigerator,” Old Man Romanoff told him, gesturing to an empty space at the end of the counter. “End of this week.”

 

“I’ve never had a refrigerator,” Steve mused aloud.

 

“They’re cool,” Bucky said, grinning.

 

Steve didn’t notice for a full ten seconds, then shot Bucky a distasteful look that just made him laugh.

 

“Cupboard,” Old Man Romanoff added, opening the door under the stairs. “Might smell like cheese for while.”

 

Steve shrugged, smiling lightly still, and peered into the pantry. There was a faint odor of cheese about it, but he didn’t mind. It was wide and spacious, despite the sloped ceiling.

 

“This is washroom,” Old Man Romanoff added, pointing to the second door before opening it. “Toilet and sink, both new.”

 

Steve looked over it; there was the same tile as the kitchen, and the oval mirror had ornamental designs in the iron.

 

“Upstairs?” Old Man Romanoff asked.

 

Steve nodded, reaching for Bucky’s hand. Old Man Romanoff went up the stairs first, opening the curtains of a window on the landing.

 

“Two bedrooms,” Old Man Romanoff said, pointing down the hallway, “laundry room, spare room. Mrs. Romanoff used it for library.”

 

Steve tugged on Bucky’s hand, ducking into the first open doorway. Old Man Romanoff stood in the entrance, watching them look around. There was more blue carpet in this room and striped wallpaper, the same as in the living room.

 

“Is the carpet new?” Steve asked, looking at Old Man Romanoff, who nodded, smiling. “The wallpaper, too?”

 

“Just week ago, put up,” Old Man Romanoff answered with a proud smile. “My Alianeshka and Lyonecheka put up wallpaper, Dominishka put in carpet.”

 

“It’s very lovely,” Steve told him, touching the wallpaper. It was smooth under his fingers; the newness of it explained the faint scent of glue. Steve liked it. “This is the library? Or one of the bedrooms?”

 

“Library,” Old Man Romanoff said. “Bedroom on left, and across hall. Laundry room in corner.”

 

He showed them; the two bedrooms had carpet and wallpaper, the laundry room had a tile floor that looked like it had been regrouted recently. The laundry room had an automatic washing machine and racks for drying clothes indoors, which was much better than Steve had ever had in his life.

 

“Machine is new,” Old Man Romanoff told them, again with pride.

 

“Fancy,” Bucky commented.

 

“Handy,” Steve corrected. “There’s another floor?”

 

“Yes,” Old Man Romanoff said, pointing back towards the stairs. “Three bedroom, one more bathroom.”

 

The third-floor bedrooms, again, had the blue carpet and striped wallpaper. The master bedroom was wide and airy, with two windows on the back overlooking the alley behind the building. It connected to the bathroom on the side, which had a clawfoot tub and a shower attached. Steve spun slowly around in the middle of the room, imagining sleeping in on Saturdays and nursing babies and all the things Bucky had promised him. He saw them all so easily in this house, with its brand new carpets and wallpaper and porcelain clawfoot tub.

 

“I give you moment,” Old Man Romanoff said, stepping backwards to the door. “You come downstairs when ready.”

 

“Thanks, Romanoff,” Bucky said. Old Man Romanoff shot him a salute and stepped out of the room. Bucky turned to Steve, a grin on his face and raised his eyebrows. “Well? What do you think?”

 

“It’s amazing,” Steve repeated his words of earlier. “But…”

 

“But?” Bucky asked, grin slipping. “But what?”

 

“It’s really amazing,” Steve said hesitantly. “How much is he asking for it?”

 

“Five thirty,” Bucky told him.

 

Steve’s eyebrows shot up. “Five thirty? Five thousand three hundred?”

 

“He said it’s negotiable,” Bucky added. “It’s close to where we both work, there’s a hospital fifteen minutes away in one direction and a school fifteen minutes in the other. It’s a great neighborhood, there’s a church down the road, Stevie.”

 

Steve bit his lip. “That’s a third of what I got for…”

 

“And we both got jobs,” Bucky reminded him. He pulled Steve in by the waist, settling his hands on Steve’s hips. “Doc’s payin’ you real good, and Old Man Romanoff’s giving me a better salary than anywhere else ‘cause I know German engines on top of American ones. Half the houses in this neighborhood are gonna be this much or worse, they get more expensive the farther away from the city center they are.”

 

“It’s negotiable?” Steve said. It really was an amazing house

 

“He’d take 48 or 49 hundred, I’m sure,” Bucky replied. “School’s real good here, he said. Coupl’a his kids went there, they all came out with diplomas.”

 

“You really like this house?” Steve asked him.

 

“Wallpaper’s blue and white,” Bucky told him, smiling down at him. “Maybe not flowers, but it’s still good enough for you. Got that clawfoot tub I said you ought'a have. And five bedrooms, doll. We could turn that library into a guest room if you wanted.”

 

“No, let’s leave it a library,” Steve said musingly before laughing at himself. “That means you gotta fill it up with books for me,” he added with a grin.

 

“Anything for you, babydoll,” Bucky promised and bent to kiss him. “That’s a yes?”

 

“That’s a yes,” Steve said.

 

Bucky kissed him a second time, reaching up to cup the back of his neck. Steve threw his arms around Bucky’s neck, responding in eagerness as they necked for a minute or two.

 

“Okay,” Bucky said, pulling back with a heavy breath. “Gotta slow down there, pretty.”

 

“That doesn’t help,” Steve grumbled.

 

Bucky kissed his forehead and gave the back of his neck a placating squeeze. “We’ll christen the place when we move in,” he promised; Steve shivered at the thought. “C’mon, let’s go talk with Romanoff.”

 

They found Old Man Romanoff sitting at the kitchen table; he smiled and leaned back in his chair as they walked in.

 

“Well? he asked.

 

“We’d like to make an offer,” Bucky said.

 

Old Man Romanoff slowly grinned, then clapped his hands together with a triumphant laugh. “Excellent! I hear offer!”

 

“Forty-eight hundred?”

 

Old Man Romanoff hummed thoughtfully. “Fifty-two,” he said.

 

“Forty-nine,” Bucky countered.

 

“Fifty-one!” Old Man Romanoff said. “And you have furniture!”

 

“Sold,” Bucky agreed and stuck out his hand.

 

Old Man Romanoff laughed again in glee and jumped up from his chair to not only grab Bucky’s hand but haul him into a hug. Steve snorted while Bucky yelped a little and Old Man Romanoff squeezed Bucky hard enough to lift him off the ground.

 

“Sold, Yakov!” Old Man Romanoff crowed. He babbled in Russian for a minute, then set Bucky down and clapped him hard on both shoulders. “You will fill house with many happy memory,” he told Bucky, then turned his bright smile and crinkly eyes on Steve. “And many happy children, yes?” he added gleefully.

 

“A few,” Steve said, grinning to himself. He stepped forward and Bucky stepped back, the two of them joining at the hand automatically.

 

“A few,” Old Man Romanoff chuckled, then slapped Bucky on the shoulder. “You are Roma, yes? A few! Mnongo detey – Six or seven, more like!”

 

Bucky smiled weakly, swallowing. Steve rolled his eyes, but giggled behind his hand.

 

“Now!” Old Man Romanoff exclaimed. “Lunch! We do papers later. Come!”

 

As Old Man Romanoff bounded out, Bucky caught Steve by the waist and planted a sharp kiss on his lips. Steve clung on, grinning into the kiss, with one hand on his cheek and the other fisted in his hair. Bucky nipped at his lower lip, then ducked his head to kiss the mark on Steve’s neck.

 

“Come along!” Old Man Romanoff called. “You kiss later, lunch now!”

 

Steve giggled again, Bucky chuckled against his neck; like teenagers caught, they walked sheepishly out of the kitchen to meet Old Man Romanoff at the front door. Romanoff waggled his brows, Steve adopted an impassive, mildly haughty expression like he’d done nothing and Bucky turned pink. Old Man Romanoff laughed boomingly once more, clapping Bucky on the back as they walked out.

 

“We walk, not far,” Romanoff told them, pointing east down the road. “Lunch with the whole family; you are part of family now, Yakov, Stepan.”

 

“Wait, what’s Yakov?” Steve asked, leaning around Bucky. “And what’s Stepan?”

 

“Yakov, Russian for James,” Old Man Romanoff told him, pronouncing _James_ with added emphasis on the consonants. “And Steve –” he said _Steve_ with great emphasis on the _V_ , turning it into _Stee-vuh_ “– Stepan.”

 

“Russians are big on nicknames,” Bucky told Steve.

 

“Yakov is formal,” Romanoff scoffed. “Yasha is nickname.”

 

Bucky raised his eyebrows at Steve, as if that proved his point.

 

“Stepan, Stepan is formal,” Old Man Romanoff continued. “You call him Stevie, yes?” he asked of Bucky, then without waiting for Bucky to answer, he said: “We call you Stepushka, then, little Steve. You are family!”

 

Steve rolled his eyes. Old Man Romanoff laughed again. “Very big in attitude, Stepushka! You fit in nice with daughters!”

 

Old Man Romanoff laughed to himself again. Steve raised his eyebrows at Bucky, who sniggered. “Shut up, jerk,” Steve muttered, elbowing him.

 

“You shut up, punk,” Bucky laughed, catching Steve by the shoulders and pulling him into his side to plant a kiss on his temple. Steve went without complaint, a satisfied smirk curling his lips, in fact, and laced an arm around Bucky’s waist.

 

Old Man Romanoff laughed again. “You act like newlybonded,” he said. “Very good for marriage. Make for strong bond.”

 

Steve grinned, because they _were_ newlybonded, but he liked the idea of a strong marriage where they acted newlybonded when they were old and gray. Bucky kissed his hair. He felt the same.

 

 _Not far_ was a twenty-minute walk, but the air was warm and a light summer breeze brushed strands of hair from their eyes as they walked. Old Man Romanoff walked with a bounce and Bucky kept Steve pinned under his arm the whole way, who was perfectly happy to stay there. The neighborhood turned from duplexes into single houses, and two blocks down a side street, Old Man Romanoff turned into a small but gated-off yard and mounted a small terrace where the front door stood open.

 

“Privet, deti!” Romanoff called into the house as he entered. “U menya yest Yakov i yego muzh!”

 

“Privet, papa!” a voice answered farther in the house. “Obed skoro!” Old Man Romanoff waved to Bucky and Steve, gesturing them in.

 

A teenage girl appeared in the hallway. “Oni pokupali dom?” she asked of Romanoff.

 

“Da!” Romanoff said happily and held up his arms. The girl stepped in to hug him, squeezing his round middle. Romanoff turned back to face Bucky and Steve, both still standing in the doorway. “Yasha, Stepushka, this is youngest daughter, Wanda.”

 

Wanda stepped back from her father and waved. “Hello,” she said politely, her accent markedly weaker than her father’s.

 

“Come meet rest of family!” Old Man Romanoff called, taking Wanda by the shoulders and steering her back the way she’d come. Steve and Bucky followed, now holding hands to walk single file through the hallway into a sitting room, where several men and women were sitting. “Family, meet Yasha and Stepushka, meet family, Yasha and Stepushka.”

 

Steve waved, feeling abruptly shy, while the gathered eight or ten Romanoffs gave a chorus of hellos. Bucky slipped an arm around his shoulder and gave him a reassuring squeeze. Old Man Romanoff patted Wanda on the shoulder, then walked into a kitchen, speaking in Russian to those inside. A second later, he returned with another woman and three more men.

 

“Grandchildren are off playing,” Old Man Romanoff told them. “Little ones, you meet later.”

 

He clapped a hand to the shoulder of the man standing closest to him, beginning introductions. “This is eldest son, Alian. Yasha, you meet him already.”

 

“Hello, Yasha, Yasha’s Omega,” Alian said, waving. His accent was softer than his father’s as well, like he’d lived away from the Mother Country for more of his life. “Did you like house?”

 

“They bought it!” Wanda said before Bucky could.

 

The Romanoffs cheered. Old Man Romanoff puffed up his chest.

 

“We go over papers later,” Old Man Romanoff said proudly. “Stepushka likes wallpaper, Alian!”

 

“My Omega picked it out,” Alian said.

 

“And here she is!” Old Man Romanoff interrupted, crossing over to a woman sat on a footstool. “Krasivaya Dinara, beautiful Dinara, favorite daughter-in-law!”

 

“I thought I was your favorite daughter-in-law!” another woman laughed.

 

“You are all favorite daughter-in-law!” Old Man Romanoff promised. The daughters-in-law laughed; Steve assumed just the daughters-in-law laughed, as six of the eight women in the room laughed while Wanda rolled her eyes and the woman who had exited the kitchen flicked up her eyebrows. “Krasivyye devochki, you make sons happy, so you all favorites.”

 

“Papa does this,” Wanda said out of the corner of her mouth to them. “He’ll do it to you, too, now you’re part of the family.”

 

“Da, ya budu, I will!” Old Man Romanoff laughed.

 

He introduced the rest of his sons and all their wives; the second oldest was Dominik, who was also the shortest, married to a woman with graying brown hair named Belka. Then was Lyonechka, who Old Man Romanoff said to call Lyon, and his wife Alyona. The fourth son was Misha, a man who wore thick glasses, whose wife, Inessa, was very pregnant. “She is Greek,” Old Man Romanoff said of her proudly, and Misha and Inessa both rolled their eyes. The fifth son was Grigory, and his wife was Anya, a very Russian name, Steve thought. The sixth son was Yurik, whose wife was Katerina. The seventh son was Pietro, the unwed one.

 

“Wanda is his twin,” Old Man Romanoff said, pulling the two together. “Same face, see?”

 

“Pa,” Wanda complained.

 

“We have entirely different noses,” Pietro protested. He and his sister hardly had accents compared to the rest of the family. Steve wondered absently what the family’s story was.

 

“Same face,” Old Man Romanoff swore. “Mrs. Romanoff, Lord rest her soul, always said, same face.”

 

Wanda and Pietro raised their eyebrows in tandem. Steve thought they looked pretty similar, at least.

 

“And this beautiful lady,” Old Man Romanoff started again, reaching out to take the woman who’d left the kitchen by the shoulders, “this is dear Natalya, Natashka, born on Christmas day!”

 

“That’s what Natalya means,” Natalya agreed with a smile that said she was humoring her father. “Call me Natasha.”

 

“That is family!” Old Man Romanoff said happily. “Now, Yasha and Stepushka, you are part of family!”

 

“What about me?” said an eighth man, who, Steve realized only after he spoke, hadn’t been introduced.

 

Old Man Romanoff’s smile turned into a suspicious expression. “We debate that,” he said sharply in answer.

 

“That’s my fiance,” Natasha added.

 

“We debate that!” Old Man Romanoff repeated hotly. Natasha raised her eyebrows. Old Man Romanoff sighed heavily. “Upryamyy, kak tvoya mat,” he muttered. “Fine, fine, is fiance.”

 

“Clint Barton,” the man threw in helpfully, reaching out and he and Bucky shook hands. Clint didn’t offer to shake Steve’s hand, which, Steve had come to understand, was common practice in Quebec. “I’m from New York, I got stationed here and never left.”

 

“It’s lovely to meet you all,” Steve said. “Bucky’s really excited to work with you guys.”

 

“Bucky, Bucky, I still say strange nickname,” Old Man Romanoff said, then turning to his daughters-in-law and other sons, “Yasha middle name Buchanan, so they call him Bucky.” He made an exaggerated shrug. “Amerikantsy strannyye.”

 

Before either Steve or Bucky could question _Amerikantsy,_ Old Man Romanoff threw up his hands. “Food! Alian, Natashenka, gde obed?”

 

“Na kukhne, papa,” Natasha said, and Old Man Romanoff stepped into the kitchen with a few more words in Russian. Natasha caught Steve’s eye, then Bucky’s, and gestured to the couches. “Sit, we’ll eat in here.”

 

Alian stepped past them to the hallway, shouting: “Deti, deti, prikhodyat na obed!”

 

Bucky steered Steve a little out of the way while a thunder of footsteps sounded from the upper levels. Alian laughed and said something to Bucky in Russian, clapping him on the shoulder before walking back into the kitchen with Natasha.

 

“Come, sit here!” called Belka, patting the cushions of the bench beside her. “Will you be going to Svyatoy Barlaam on Sundays?”

 

“The church near the house?” Steve said instead of answering. It was called Saint Barlaam, far as he knew.

 

“Da,” Belka said with a wide smile. “We all go to Svyatoy Barlaam, is Russian, but we speak English there. This is English neighborhood.”

 

Steve hesitated, while Belka continued to smile invitingly. Prostitutes did not set foot on hallowed ground, after all.

 

Bucky squeezed his hand. “Yeah, we’ll be going.”

 

Steve glanced over at him with raised eyebrows, but Bucky only smiled at him innocently. “Russian Orthodox’s not that different from Catholic, right?”

 

Belka laughed. “Is very different! But, also same. You are Catholic?”

 

“Steve is,” Bucky told her. Steve was still thinking about hallowed ground. “Me, nuns were happy to get me to sleep through Mass at the orphanage. Meant I wasn’t causing trouble.”

 

“You were born in orphanage?” asked Inessa, joining the conversation. Her accent was decidedly heavy, as well as vastly different from the rest of the family.

 

“Nah, got left at one young, though,” Bucky answered. “My parents are dead, I figure.”

 

“We adopt you!” Belka laughed. “We are your sisters, now!”

 

“Thanks,” Bucky answered, laughing a little.

 

“Were you in orphanage?” Belka asked Steve.

 

“No, my ma raised me,” Steve said. “But she passed away when I was a kid.”

 

He was a kid, really, when she died, even if he’d been over eighteen. He’d grown up fast following the days of her death.

 

“Yasha say you come to Quebec to get married,” Dominik spoke, Steve flicked his gaze to him. “You meet as children?”

 

“Yeah,” Steve said, looking over at Bucky with a fond smile. “We were really little. We got stuck together and never got unstuck.”

 

“Never will,” Bucky reminded him, pecking him on the forehead. Steve grinned to himself, pleased.

 

“Very cute,” Belka giggled.

 

“Wish I had romance like you,” Anya sighed.

 

“Oi!” Grigory said and Anya rolled her eyes.

 

“You propose in kitchen while cooking,” she told him. “Very unromantic.”

 

“You still cry,” Grigory answered reproachfully.

 

“Bah,” Anya said with a wave of her hand. “Was onions.”

 

Grigory rolled his eyes as well, then trailed off with a few mutters in Russian.

 

Katerina said something in Russian as well, her brow furrowed as she asked something of the others. Belka answered with a shrug and face-paced Russian, then Dominik interrupted and waved a hand. Steve glanced at Bucky, who made a short _don’t look at me_ gesture. Katerina frowned, then shrugged. Dinara said something in a firm tone, and Dominik added a nod and short word to the end of her statement. Katerina shrugged a second time, then said: “Amerikantsy strannyye.”

 

“What does that mean?” Steve asked, curious and a little unsettled.

 

“You are strange,” Belka said. “But we like you, no worry.”

 

She patted his shoulder with a fond smile. Steve glanced once more at Bucky, who only shrugged again. Steve, despite his sneaking suspicion that _Amerikantsy_ sounded like _American_ for a reason, decided to let it go. Bucky didn’t seem to mind, at least.

 

“Obed!” Old Man Romanoff crowed as he re-entered the room with a large tray of steaming foods; what looked like latkes, dumplings, yellow grits and stuffed grape leaves. “Deruny, vareniki, banush, Natashka’s golubtsi!”

 

“Wanda’s golubtsi, this time,” Natasha said as walked in behind him with a large crock.

 

“Zamechatel’no, Wanda!” Old Man Romanoff called, setting the tray on a low table in the center of the room. He crossed to the doorway and shouted: “Deti! Obed!” once before walking back into the kitchen.

 

Alian walked out at the same time as he entered carrying stacks of plates and cutlery. A chorus of footsteps thudded down the stairs and twelve or fifteen children ran in to skid to stops and drop onto the floor in front of the table. “Podozhdi!” Alian told them when one reached out for a round potato cake. “My govorim snachala blagodat.”

 

Several children made noises of disappointment. A few waved at Steve and Bucky, but otherwise appeared more interested in the food.

 

“Papa! Come back, say grace!” Alian shouted over his shoulder, sticking spoons in dishes.

 

Steve’s stomach grumbled a little as some of the steam rising off the food drifted his way. Bucky squeezed his hip briefly.

 

“I come, I come!” Old Man Romanoff answered from the kitchen. He walked into the sitting room again, guiding Pietro who had a wide platter laden with skewered meat in his hands, Clint behind them holding bowls. The meat was still audibly sizzling, and had a strong aroma that made Steve’s stomach rumble a second time. “Sit, all, sit!” Old Man Romanoff said while Pietro put down the platter.

 

Those still standing found seats, Alian sitting on a second footstool next to his wife and Natasha in between Inessa and Anya with Clint taking a seat on the floor in front of her, Pietro joining his sister on the floor and Old Man Romanoff dragging a chair in from the kitchen. When they were all sat, Old Man Romanoff clapped his hands together and bowed his head. The gathered children fell silent instantly while the adults bowed their heads, folding their hands together.

 

While he was growing up, Sarah Rogers had always held the hands of those next to her when she bowed her head in prayer. Out of habit, Steve took Bucky’s and inclined his head.

 

Like he hadn’t attended church in years, Steve hadn’t prayed in a very long time, either.

 

“O Christ our God,” Old Man Romanoff began, “bless food, drink, fellowship of Thy servants, for Thou are holy always, now and ever and unto ages. Amen.”

 

“Amen,” his children and grandchildren echoed, before raising their hands to cross themselves.

 

Bucky fumbled in copying them, but Steve crossed himself out of habit before he even realized what he was doing. While Old Man Romanoff and Alian moved to serve the food, Steve dropped his hands to his lap and bit at his lower lip, thinking about church on Sundays and prayer.

 

He grasped Bucky’s sleeve, and his Alpha leaned his ear down to listen.

 

“I want to get a rosary,” Steve whispered.

 

Bucky looked at him, smiled gently, and nodded. He kissed Steve’s nose, then reached out for the plate Alian was handing him. Steve had once had a rosary, one that had belonged to his mother.

 

It lay under his bed in New York, where it had been hidden underneath Bucky’s old jacket. He hadn’t even thought of bringing it with him to the docks when Schmidt collected him on the morning of January tenth. He wondered if it was too late to get a message to Peggy to find it and bury it with his mother.

 

The food was delicious; Belka helpfully named each dish that Steve and Bucky were handed: The latke cakes were called deruny by the Russians, though they tasted the same as the potato cakes Mrs. Barnes made during Hanukkah. The dish resembling grits was called banush and was much better than any grits Steve had eaten in New York. The dumpling type things were called vareniki, or pierogi, and were stuffed with the leftover lamb from the shashlik, the skewered meat. The stuffed grape leaves were actually stuffed cabbage leaves, called golubtsi, and Wanda looked immensely proud of herself every time someone complimented them. There was also a cold soup called okroshka, a tangy broth with vegetables and more leftover lamb. There was a bounty of lamb with the end of rationing, and the meal showed it.

 

The meal lasted over an hour, and when it was done Steve offered to help clean up, but the Romanoffs would hear nothing of it. As Alian, Wanda, and Natasha had done the cooking, apparently, that meant Dinara, Pietro, and Dominik had to clean up the mess left in the kitchen. The older grandchildren were also drafted into aiding the clean-up efforts, something they greatly protested.

 

“We go over papers,” Old Man Romanoff told them while Pietro gathered dishes. “Come, Yasha, Lyon is banker, he will help us.”

 

Bucky pressed a kiss to Steve’s lips before following Old Man Romanoff and Lyon out of the room, leaving Steve sat on the bench with nothing to do but twiddle his thumbs.

 

Inessa dropped down next to Steve, holding a squirming toddler in her lap. “Cheretismós, Stepushka,” she said, then held out the toddler. “Would you mind?”

 

“No, not at all,” Steve answered, taking the child. The little boy set his feet on Steve’s knees and looked at him with wide eyes. Steve looked back with eyes just as wide. Inessa laughed.

 

“You look like you never held a child before,” Inessa remarked, massaging her swollen stomach.

 

“I haven’t,” Steve told her honestly.

 

“No children for you?” she asked.

 

Steve shook his head, then bit his lip as he started to smile. “Well, not yet.”

 

Inessa slowly grinned. “Ah, I know that face. When are you due?”

 

“Oh, no, not yet,” Steve said hastily. “But, hopefully soon.”

 

Inessa nodded sagely. “I see, very smart. You wait to get settled first.” She tapped the side of her nose and gave him a sly smile. “Very smart, Stepushka.”

 

Steve smiled a little, looking back at the boy she’d handed him. “What’s his name?”

 

“Tomek,” she answered, looking at her son with fond eyes. Tomek blinked back at her, totally oblivious. “He’s two,” she added proudly. “Show Stepushka how old you are, Tommy.”

 

Tomek raised a hand, then wiggled two fingers.

 

“Very good,” Steve praised the boy, grinning. Tomek broke into a smile and giggled. “You’re very cute.”

 

“Oh, yes, but very troublesome!” Inessa laughed.

 

“Two-year-old always troublesome!” Anya swore.

 

“Mine is angel,” Belka commented.

 

“Your two-year-old is exception,” Anya told her. “You spoil him!”

 

Belka shrugged. “I spoil my one baby, so what?”

 

Anya rolled her eyes. “One baby, you lucky.” She patted her own stomach, which had a little bump now that he looked. “Number six,” she said to Steve with raised eyebrows.

 

Steve raised his eyebrows. Anya made a face of _you see_ at him and pointed across the room at where her husband was trying to get an older boy to crawl out from behind the piano. “Alphas, yes?”

 

“Yes,” Steve agreed absently. _Six!_

 

“You have brothers and sisters?” Alyona spoke.

 

Steve shook his head. “Only child.”

 

“Ooh, what was mama’s secret?” Anya asked, laughing.

 

Steve drew in a long breath, then answered, “My dad died in the Great War.”

 

“Oh, never mind,” Anya said hastily before shuddering. “I take seven or eight babes. Never mind.”

 

Steve smiled absently. She had a point.

 

Tomek made a noise and Steve dutifully adjusted his attention, raising his eyebrows at the boy. Tomek giggled and Steve made a face at him, causing him to laugh more.

 

“You make wonderful mommy,” Inessa said.

 

Steve smiled a little, then tickled Tomek in the stomach. Tomek squirmed, then squirmed his way to sitting on Steve’s lap before setting his head on his chest and yawning. Steve smiled down at him, beginning to pet his fine, black hair.

 

“Ha!” Inessa cheered. “Misha! Misha, come look!”

 

Misha stuck his head in from the kitchen. Inessa pointed at Tomek’s sleepy form in Steve’s lap and chattered in Greek or Russian for a second. Misha grinned and blew a kiss to his son, who waved drowsily before his father ducked back into the kitchen.

 

“Tommy does not like strangers,” Inessa said proudly to Steve. “He would never sleep for someone other than mommy before.”

 

She grinned at her baby, who waved drowsily again. “You like Stepushka, moró? Sou arései aftós, yes.”

 

Tomek yawned again. Inessa leaned over and kissed his forehead, making him giggle. Steve smiled, proud.

 

Another child, this one with curly brown hair, wandered up to Steve and held out a bit of lamp to him.

 

“Sashenka, did you find that on floor?” Anya asked before Steve could react.

 

Sashenka looked at it, then held it out to Anya. Anya muttered something with fond exasperation in Russian before taking the bit of meat and examining it. Sashenka darted away before returning with a potato cake, which she offered to Steve instead. Dinara came walking out of the kitchen, chattering in rapid-paced Russian, then stopped to set her fists on her hips and look down at Sashenka with raised eyebrows. Steve took the potato cake, though.

 

“Thank you, darling,” he told her. Sashenka clapped her hands and grinned.

 

“Ay, ay, Anya, take your little thief,” Dinara sighed, scooping Sashenka off the floor and handing her to Anya.

 

“Stop stealing leftover from Tetya Dina,” Anya scolded, tickling Sashenka’s belly and making her giggle. “Go fuss at your papa, baby,” she added, setting the little girl back on the floor. Sashenka squealed and ran off to attach herself to Grigory’s leg, who whooped and bent to pick her up. Steve smiled, imagining Bucky doing the same with their kids.

 

“See, the face again,” Inessa laughed. “This time next year, you bring baby of your own.”

 

Steve grinned at the idea. “Hopefully,” he said. This time last year, he didn’t want to think about, but this time next year… That was something he could look forward to.

 

“You hold Tommy,” Anya added, then cackled, “we see Yasha face and now next year you have number two on way!”

 

Steve chuckled, resuming petting Tomek’s hair. The baby reached out for the potato cake in his hand and Steve glanced at Inessa for permission before breaking off a little piece and feeding it to him. The women around him began chattering in Russian again while Steve fed Tomek the latke, and when he’d finished it, Tomek grabbed one of his fingers and stuck it in his mouth to suck on.

 

“No more,” Steve told him, and Tomek pouted. “Sorry, darling.”

 

Tomek sucked harder on the tip of Steve’s finger, frowning in confusion. Inessa glanced over and laughed.

 

“Tommy, Tommy, net moloka, that is finger!”

 

Tomek let go of Steve’s finger, his little face screwing up in a disgruntled pout. Inessa laughed again and tickled his feet. Steve tickled his stomach, Inessa scritching her nails on his socks, and Tomek laughed, kicking his feet.

 

A hand landed on Steve’s shoulder and he looked up, beaming, to Bucky’s pleased face. Inessa immediately laughed again.

 

“See, the face!” she said to Steve, elbowing him with a grin.

 

Bucky raised an eyebrow, though he was smiling. Steve shrugged. “I’ll tell you later. Time to go?”

 

“Yep,” Bucky said, then lifted a sheaf of papers in his hand. “We’ll run over to Doc’s and grab Romanoff’s money, then we can move in at the end of the week.”

 

“Great!” said Steve, and Tomek clapped. Bucky gave the little boy a smile before bending and kissing Steve’s hair.

 

“Go!” Anya laughed. “Come back with child!”

 

Bucky turned red and Steve snorted. He handed Tomek back to Inessa and got to his feet, brushing crumbs from the latke off his lap. Steve waved to the Romanoff women, who waved back and cheered farewells.

 

“What were you talking about?” Bucky asked Steve, half whispering and half laughing, as they made their way to the door.

 

“Babies,” Steve said, snorting again. “Anya says this time next year I’ll be pregnant with number two.”

 

Bucky turned redder, then set his hand on the small of Steve’s back as they left the house. Steve smiled to himself, proud.

 

At the gate, Bucky cut in front of Steve and bent at the knees. “Hop on,” he said over his shoulder.

 

“What are you, twelve?” Steve laughed.

 

“C’mon, Stevie, we’re newlybonded,” Bucky said with a sly grin. Steve rolled his eyes, but set his hands on Bucky’s shoulders and hopped onto his back. Bucky locked his forearms under Steve’s knees and set off at a casual gait. Steve looped his arms around Bucky’s neck, settling his cheek on his arm comfortably.

 

“When do you go off the pill?” Bucky asked casually just before they reached the car.

 

Steve smirked. “September.”

 

Bucky hitched him a little higher on his back. “Four months,” he said softly.

 

Steve kissed his ear. “Four months, Buck.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _my all-time favorite line in the whole of my writing canon, **“Bah,” Anya said with a wave of her hand. “Was onions.”** lexi loves this chapter bc of the family vibes and it's def one of my favorite chapters in this fic bc it's so warm and fuzzy. i hope you liked this chapter and your holidays will go well! see you next week!_
> 
>  
> 
>  **Много детей/Mnogo detey** = _A lot of children_  
>  **Привет, дети!/Privet, deti!** = _Hi, kids!_  
>  **У меня есть Яков и его муж!/U menya yest Yakov i yego muzh!** = _I have James [Jacob] and his husband!_  
>  **Обед скоро!/Obed skoro!** = _Lunch is coming soon!_  
>  **Они покупали дом?/Oni pokupali dom?** = _Did they buy the house?_  
>  **Красивые девочки/Krasivyye devochki** = _Beautiful girls_  
>  **Да, я буду/Da, ya budu** = _Yes, I will_  
>  **Упрямый, как твоя мать/Upryamyy, kak tvoya mat** = _Stubborn like your mother_  
>  **Американцы странные/Amerikantsy strannyye** = _Americans are weird_  
>  **где обед?/gde obed?** = _where is lunch?_  
>  **на кухне/Na kukhne** = _in the kitchen_  
>  **Дети, дети, приходят на обед!/Deti, deti, prikhodyat na obed!** = _Kids, kids, come for lunch!_  
>  **Svyatoy** = _Saint_  
>  **Замечательно/Zamechatelno** = _Wonderful_  
>  **Подожди/Podozhdi** = _Wait_  
>  **Мы говорим сначала благодать/My govorim snachala blagodat** = _We say grace first_  
>  **тетя/Tetya** = _Aunt_  
>  **нет молока/net moloka** = _no milk_
> 
>  
> 
>  **χερετισμός/cheretismós** = _hello_  
>  **μωρό/moró** = _baby_  
>  **σου αρέσει αυτός/Sou arései aftós** = _You like him_
> 
>  
> 
> _a quick lesson on Russian nomenclature, "eshka/ushka/ishka" or "ka" is often added to the end of a name as a cute moniker, making it "little [name]," e.g., Stepushka = Little Steven. secondly, Yakov is actually Russian for Jacob and Dzheyms is closer to James, but from what i've seen in Marvel canon/fanon, everyone uses Yakov/Yasha as Bucky's Russian name._


	13. Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _happy boxing day, everyone. for your present this year, i give to you: some pretty fun sexy times. this chapter is nsfw._

**[april 29th, 1945]**

 

Steve was shaking with anticipation as their new home drew nearer in the front windshield. Bucky kept glancing at him every few seconds, a wide grin on his face and a hand casually resting on Steve’s knee. They had all their meager belongings in the back of the truck, complete with housewarming gifts; from Doc and the Romanoffs, even some from Nurse Benson and some of Doc’s patients to whom Steve had mentioned the new house. The house was fully furnished, but there still had been things they needed. Doc had given them a set of dishes, one that Steve hoped they’d need to expand relatively soon, Miss Benson gifted them with a radio, they’d gotten a set of linens from the Romanoffs and a lovely collection of seashells from the little ones. Steve hoped to buy a gramophone soon for the library, and Bucky promised to build him a drawing desk.

 

But ultimately, Steve was shaking with anticipation to settle into his new home with Bucky. It was the life he dreamed of for over a decade come true; he and Bucky would grow old together. What more could he want?

 

Finally, they reached their house. Bucky parked the truck and cut the engine, then flashed Steve a grin before hopping out. Steve opened his door as Bucky hurried around the car, and before he could step down, Bucky darted in front of him and grabbed him by the waist to lift him out. Steve laughed and caught his shoulders, letting Bucky swing him around before putting him on his feet.

 

“I get to carry you over the threshold,” Bucky said smugly.

 

“Okay, Buck,” Steve laughed again.

 

Bucky caught his face and gave a firm kiss, then, true to his word, swept Steve off his feet and into his arms. Steve grabbed him around the neck, laughed and hugged him a little, and Bucky grinned bright and wide at him.

 

“You ready, babydoll?” he asked, pride in his tone, as he walked up to the stoop of their new home.

 

Steve hugged him around the neck. “Been ready for ages, Buck.”

 

Bucky had to fumble with the keys, and Steve naturally sniggered at him. “Shh!” Bucky scolded, finally unlocking the door. He kicked it open, paused to meet Steve’s gaze, and stepped over the threshold.

 

“Good job, Bucky,” Steve giggled.

 

“Hey,” Bucky said anyway, shaking him a little. “Welcome home, angel.”

 

Steve grabbed his face and planted a loud kiss on his cheek. “Welcome home, Alpha.”

 

Bucky’s grin widened despite all odds and his face turned pink, but he turned and caught Steve’s lips in a kiss. They were grinning too much for it to really be a kiss, but it was beautiful and made Steve’s heart swell with love anyway. Bucky leaned their foreheads together, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he smiled happily.

 

“Now put me down,” Steve said.

 

Bucky laughed and dropped his feet onto the ground, only to push him against the wall and start kissing him again. Steve circled his arms around Bucky’s neck and stood on his toes to press into the kiss, to press into his body and seek out his warmth. Bucky’s hands at his back held him almost off his feet, and Steve was tempted to just climb him like a tree.

 

Then Bucky broke the kiss, panting, and Steve sagged somewhat, hanging off his neck. “I promise we can make good on that later,” Bucky murmured. “But, we gotta unload the truck.”

 

Steve pouted. “But I don’t wanna, I want you to carry me over the bedroom threshold.”

 

Bucky gripped his waist tighter and ducked his head into Steve’s neck to scent him. “Oh, I will,” he growled, and Steve shivered. Bucky slid a hand down Steve’s back, slowly, and Steve pressed tighter to him, squeezing his eyes shut, as Bucky’s hand came to rest over his ass.

 

“I will,” Bucky promised softly. “As soon as the truck’s unloaded.”

 

Then he pulled away and Steve dropped against the wall to pout harder. Bucky just smirked at him and headed back out toward the truck.

 

“You’re not fair!” Steve yelled after him.

 

“Love you, too!” Bucky answered.

 

“I’m gonna make you sleep on the couch,” Steve added, following him.

 

Bucky waved a dismissive hand at him and Steve snorted, shaking his head at his own joke. He hopped off the curb to reach into the back of the truck for a box, and Bucky took the opportunity to plant a kiss on his cheek. Steve broke into a grin and shoved lightly at his shoulder, and Bucky beamed, proud of himself, while he hauled out the box of dishes.

 

They spent perhaps fifteen minutes unloading the truck. The second the last of their boxes is set in the living room, Steve put his arms around Bucky’s neck and jumped. Bucky caught him, laughing, and Steve kissed him with a grin.

 

“Time to christen the place?” Steve asked cheekily.

 

“That’s the plan,” Bucky answered, heading for the stairs. “I hope you’re ready to get your brains fucked out, doll.”

 

“I am now,” Steve laughed.

 

Bucky kicked their bedroom door open and dropped Steve onto the already-made bed. Steve scrambled to get his shirt off, then climbed the middle of the bed, getting on his back, in time for Bucky to crawl on top of him and start sucking marks down his neck.

 

“I heard it’d take easier if you did it from the back,” Steve told him a little breathlessly.

 

“Yeah?” Bucky asked him, licking at his scent gland and causing tremors to shoot through his body. “Where’d you hear that, baby?”

 

“Somewhere,” Steve answered vaguely.

 

Bucky lifted off of him and Steve flipped onto his stomach, then pulled his knees under him and looked over his shoulder. “Well?” he said.

 

“You’re gonna kill me,” Bucky growled, then ripped Steve’s trousers off his ass.

 

“If you tore that, you gotta fix it!” Steve laughed as he got his knees back under him.

 

“Deal with it later,” Bucky said, pulling his own shirt off over his head. He undid his belt and draped himself over Steve’s back, sucking on the back of his neck again. Steve gave a vague hum and pressed back into him.

 

“You gonna fuck my brains out or what?” Steve asked.

 

“Shuddup and lemme get my breath,” Bucky growled again, but his fingers were already pushing between Steve’s cheeks. “You’re fuckin’ killin’ me.”

 

“Don’t die until you get your dick in me,” Steve answered, pushing back against his fingers. “C’mon, Buck –”

 

“Lemme get you open, fuck,” Bucky muttered.

 

Steve dropped his head onto his arms, his cheek smushing under him, and his eyes flutter shut as Bucky worked his fingers into him. It wasn’t long before Bucky’s pulling them out, then dropping his hands to frame Steve’s head as he pressed in slowly.

 

“I fuckin’ love your ass,” Bucky growled, then bit his neck and kissed the spot. “I fuckin’ love _you._ ”

 

“Love you, too,” Steve mumbled in return. “C’mon, I ain’t glass, Buck, don’t be afraid to break me.”

 

“You want me to break ya, sugar?” Bucky asked, biting his ear now.

 

“Mmm,” Steve answered. “Hell yeah.”

 

“Your wish is my command,” Bucky said in his ear.

 

Steve liked having a nice, big house all to themselves. Yes, there was another duplex on the side of them, but his and Bucky’s bedroom was on the end of the row, so there was nothing on the other side of their wall and no one to be upset by the thunking of the bed frame against the wall. Nor was there anyone to hear Bucky encouraging Steve to be louder and Steve doing his best to obey. While the sun set outside, Bucky collapsed onto his side and pulled Steve against him to spoon him and Steve laid his head against Bucky’s shoulder to expose his throat to Bucky’s lips.

 

“Welcome home, Alpha,” Steve mumbled.

 

“Welcome home, Omega,” Bucky answered sweetly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _fyi, steve is still on suppressants/birth control, so anyone who might've been confused last chapter about him and bucky having kids, not yet. i hope you enjoy the last of your holidays, everyone, and happy new year! i actually won't be back with an update until 2019. (i'm hilarious, shush.)_


	14. Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _happy new year! let's start 2019 right, with smut_

**[october 18th, 1945]**

 

Bucky wiped his hands clean on his overalls, then mopped his brow with a rag. Summer was late in ending, a heat wave having gone through the city in the past few weeks, and there were many new air conditioning units to be installed in many posh cars. Bucky had learned vehicle maintenance in the army, where air con units weren’t the concern of mechanics, and he didn’t like the owners of said posh cars very much. They all looked down their noses at him ‘cause he spoke hardly any French, and did the same with Old Man Romanoff and his sons. Bucky kind of wanted to tell the lot of them just to go to a mechanic that spoke more French than Russian or English, but then they wouldn’t pay him to install air conditioners.

 

“Alright, alright, time for home,” Alian shouted across the garage. “Out, out you go.”

 

He often repeated things, Bucky had learned in the past five months.

 

“See you tomorrow!” Bucky called, throwing down the rag.

 

“Uvidimsya, Yasha!” Dominik and Grigory answered.

 

Bucky went straight for his car; he’d strip off his overalls at home, they needed to be washed. Doc should have already driven Steve home; he’d be waiting for him, hopefully. In his truck, Bucky scrubbed at his eyes briefly, then cranked the engine to start home.

 

He parked the truck, clambering out and slamming the door. He trudged up the steps and reached for the handle of the door.

 

Bucky twisted the handle, and the door caught. He stopped, looking up in confusion, then dug around in his pocket for the keys. They never locked the deadbolt during the day if one of them was home, and if the handle was unlocked, then Steve had to be home already. He unlocked the door, pushed it open and stepped inside, kicking it shut with his foot.

 

Inside, the strong smell of gingerbread had him stopping. Carefully, Bucky tasted the air, then grinned and reached back to turn the bolt back.

 

“Stevie, I’m home!” he shouted up the stairs.

 

“Get up here!” Steve shouted back.

 

“Let me call Romanoff, tell him I’m not coming in tomorrow!”

 

“Hurry up!” Steve whined.

 

Bucky ran for the phone, forgetting to remove his oil-stained coveralls. If he was quick, he might catch Old Man Romanoff in the office still. He dialed the number, half bouncing on the balls of his feet while the phone rang.

 

 _“‘allo,”_ Old Man Romanoff’s voice answered.

 

“Hey, it’s Yasha,” Bucky said, “I can’t come in tomorrow, might be out still on Monday.”

 

_“Oh? Why, Stepushka sick?”_

 

“No,” Bucky answered, sure Old Man Romanoff could hear the grin in his voice. “Just that time of the year, you know.”

 

Old Man Romanoff cackled and Bucky grinned wider. _“Very good, Yasha, you take care of Stepushka, daughters will drop off food tomorrow! Come back when ready! Udachi, Yakov!”_

 

“Thanks,” Bucky said, then hung up.

 

“Buck!” Steve called out irritably.

 

“I’m coming, hang on!” he answered.

 

At the stairs, he paused to kick off his shoes, then bounded up them two at a time. As he ascended the stairs, the smell of heat filled his nose. On the third floor, he had to stop for breath, the strength and alluring sweetness making him dizzy. It had grown more intense since the last time Bucky smelled it at fifteen years old, but just as it had done then, it sent his blood racing. His heart hammered in his chest, he could feel his pulse in his fingers let alone elsewhere. He could smell Steve’s sweat and slick walking up to their bedroom, the door standing open.

 

Bucky stopped to linger in the doorway. Steve lay sprawled on their bed, chest rising and falling rapidly, naked and flushed. He held out his hands in reaching for Bucky, waving his fingers impatiently.

 

“C’mon,” Steve complained, “don’t just stand there sucking on your gums.”

 

“Can’t fault a fella for loving the view,” Bucky told him as he stepped into the room.

 

Despite the thundering of his heart and the tightness of his clothes, he felt remarkably calm. They’d been waiting for Steve’s heat almost a month, ever since Doc gave him the go-ahead to stop taking suppressants. They’d been waiting for a chance at a child even longer.

 

“Do you know what the sight of you does to me, babydoll?” Bucky asked as he neared the bed. Steve flashed a smile, breathing heavily through his mouth and licking his lips. Bucky started undoing the buttons of his overalls, one at a time. “Naked, all wet and waiting for me? Never even dreamed of something nicer to come home to, sugar.”

 

“Buck, hurry up,” Steve murmured.

 

“We got all the time in the world, pretty,” Bucky reminded him. Steve swallowed, hard, then waved his hands again. “Got time to try all sorts of things. I never did get to see what you taste like coming, Stevie.”

 

“Bucky,” Steve whined.

 

Bucky pulled the overalls off his shoulders, kicking them off his legs. He got his shirt over his head, leaving him in an undershirt, and tossed it aside before getting on the bed, crawling on his hands and knees up to Steve. He bent and mouthed at the bondmark on Steve’s neck, tasting the heat-scent and groaning on it. Steve latched onto him, legs wrapping around his hips and hands clinging to his hair, small, breathy sounds coming from his lips. Bucky sucked on Steve’s scent gland, letting his hands wander Steve’s body, from his ribs to his waist to his hips, then back up to his chest to play with his nipples. Steve whimpered and tried to rut against him; Bucky growled and pressed down on him, catching his mouth in a hot kiss. Steve’s mouth parted under him, but his hips kept shifting. Bucky rolled his hips carefully and Steve moaned into his mouth.

 

Bucky pulled back, kissed at his neck before dragging his face and cheek over the slope of his neck to his shoulder. He ran his wrists over Steve’s skin, rubbing his own scent into his Omega and marking him. Bucky’s rut was settling in, coming out fast in response to the smell of Steve’s heat and slick and sweat. He sucked hickeys into Steve’s skin, bit lightly in places, licked at his scent gland. Steve whined and squirmed under him, his hands tearing at Bucky’s undershirt and trousers.

 

“Do you see what you do to me, pretty?” Bucky growled into Steve’s neck. He pressed down, hard, and lapped at his scent gland. “Do you know how much I love you?”

 

“Tell me,” Steve gasped, his breath escaping his lips rapidly.

 

“Like it’s a fire under my skin,” Bucky swore. “Like you’re a drug and withdrawal sets in after five minutes, baby. I need you like water ‘n’ food, need your pretty eyes and lips an’ your little laugh and those long, artist’s fingers, babydoll.” He grabbed one of Steve’s hands, lacing their fingers together and pinning it above Steve’s head. “My cock’s addicted to your pretty ass, sugar, you feel it?”

 

Steve arched his back, pressing against him and Bucky sighed in pleasure. “‘S difficult not to notice,” Steve muttered. “‘Specially since it ain’t in me yet.”

 

“I wanna taste you, baby,” Bucky said, licking his scent gland again. “Love the taste of your slick, ‘m addicted to that, too.”

 

“Do it, then,” Steve gasped.

 

Bucky sucked on his scent gland again, then slid back down his body to lie between his legs. Steve grabbed a pillow and tossed it to him, then lay flat on the bed, lifting his hips up. Bucky stuck the pillow under his back, then kissed the inside of his thigh, ran a hand down it to cup his hip. Steve trembled under his hands, his breathing loud as Bucky kissed down his leg, rubbing his cheeks and lips over his skin. His head spun with the heady, sweet scent, his mouth watered in anticipation as he neared his goal, his trousers felt much too tight and a little sticky already from pre-come.

 

Bucky focused on Steve, however, on licking the traces of slick off Steve’s thighs just to tease him. Steve whined and pushed into his face, making Bucky laugh and catch his hips with both hands.

 

“Patience, baby, I wanna take my time.”

 

“Fuck that,” Steve said absently, “ _knot_ _me_.”

 

Bucky chuckled, then plunged in. Steve gasped and moaned, Bucky shuddered and groaned. His fingers dug into Steve’s hips, the sweet taste on his tongue flicking something in his head, the velvet heat stirring his consciousness into a soup that consisted completely of _Steve, Steve, Steve._  Though he wanted to bury himself in Steve already, feel that velvet heat on more than just his tongue, the taste of his slick had him fixated on that moment. He worked his tongue in and out, stretching it until his jaw even felt sore, while Steve writhed and made soft _uh!, uh!, uh!_ noises that drove him mad. Bucky could smell Steve’s impending orgasm and ran his hands up Steve’s body to find his tits and play with his nipples again, reaching ever further with his tongue, and Steve’s hands came to fist in his hair. Bucky swirled his tongue, plunged back in, sucked with his closed mouth, dragged his hands back down to stroke his Omega. As his hands wrapped around him, Steve let out a loud cry and was coming.

 

Bucky drank up the new gushing of slick, trembling himself with want and need. He pulled back and kissed and scent-marked up Steve’s torso to his neck, sucked on his scent gland and worked his way back up to Steve’s mouth. Steve pressed both hands to Bucky’s cheeks, his fingers cool on his hot face, and kissed back with a fierceness. Bucky broke off to bite his ear and return to his scent gland once, then sucked on a nipple.

 

“Good as you thought it’d be?” Steve asked, breathless.

 

“Better,” Bucky promised.

 

“Get your pants off, Barnes,” Steve ordered, tugging on his belt. Bucky was tempted back to his scent gland and sucked on it longer. “I want – I want –”

 

“What’d’you want, baby?” Bucky murmured. “Want my knot?”  


“ _Yes,_ ” Steve sighed. “Gimme – Bucky, get in me –”

 

“You wanna get all stuffed up with my come?” Bucky purred in his ear. “You want me to get buried in you, stay there for days? Want me to make you scream?”

 

“ _Yes,_ ” Steve gasped. “Bucky, c’mon, gimme…”

 

“Can’t think, sugar?” he cooed. “Too focused on what you want?”

 

Steve tugged hard on his belt, whining wordlessly. Bucky was loathed to let go of Steve, but he sat up to undo his belt and trousers, then paused, looking down at Steve watching him.

 

Steve’s skin glistened, sparkled like he was made of glass, or of crystals, diamonds or holy rays of light straight from the hand of God. His whole body was flushed, his normally creamy skin turned a deep shade of peachy pink. He looked at Bucky through half-closed eyes, his pupils wide and his lips parted as he inhaled and exhaled.

 

“Pretty as can be,” Bucky murmured to him, pulling his belt loose. “‘S what you are, baby, pretty angel and all for me. I’ll give you what you want, I’ll always give you what you want, Stevie, don’t think I could ever say no to you.”

 

“Better not,” Steve mumbled. “Hurry up.”

 

“I’m admiring the view,” Bucky laughed. “I could eat you up, baby.”

 

“You already ate me up,” Steve shot back. “Now you gotta fill me up.”

 

“Oh, yeah, baby,” Bucky swore, “I will.”

 

He pushed off his trousers and briefs, then bent to kiss Steve’s flushed neck again, careful to keep his hips just out of reach, just to keep teasing him. Steve’s fingers caught on his undershirt and Bucky pushed up again to pull it off. Steve’s legs wrapped around his hips again, drawing him down, yet Bucky held back a little while longer, giving him just a little. Steve whined and pressed back against him, his fingers digging into Bucky’s back, while Bucky mouthed at his scent gland.

 

“How ‘bout one more, baby?” Bucky asked him. “Can I get one more outta you just like this?”

 

“Nuh-uh,” Steve mumbled, pushing against him, “c’mon, ‘m empty, it’s starting to hurt.”

 

Worry flashed through him; Bucky dropped a hand to press his fingers into Steve and drew another whine of complaint from Steve’s lips. “I know, I know, sweetheart, I just wanna make sure you’re loose enough. Don’t wanna hurt you.”

 

“‘S not gonna hurt me,” Steve said, clenching down on Bucky’s fingers all the same. “‘S gonna feel so good, Buck, you making love to me, puttin’ a baby in me, no way that’d ever hurt, Bucky, c’mon –”

 

Bucky groaned into Steve’s neck, feeling his knot already growing. He worked a fourth finger into Steve, then pulled them free and grabbed Steve’s hips to steady him.

 

“You ready, pretty?” he mumbled. “Hope so, think I’m ‘bout to burst already –”

 

Steve grabbed his ass and pushed down on him while lifting up at the same time. “Don’t waste another second, Bucky Barnes,” he demanded.

 

Bucky obeyed.

 

Steve threw his head back, mouth open, eyes closed; gasping loudly with every exhale. Bucky closed his mouth over the mark on Steve’s scent gland, his jaw itching to clamp down, picking up his pace as Steve exhaled louder and faster, his mouth watering on the taste of Steve’s scent, like gingerbread. The velvet heat felt like it encompassed his whole body, pulling him in, pulling his release out.

 

Soon he was slamming into Steve, who kept making those maddening _uh, uh, uh_ sounds, who tasted so sweet under his tongue, who was going to carry his child, grow round and taste sweet almost just like this every day.

 

Bucky felt Steve orgasm around him, heard him gasp and felt his nails dig in, and kept going, his knot still growing. Time slipped away from him, instead he counted the number of times Steve came; a third time, a fourth, a fifth.

 

“C’mon,” Steve begged, “come inside me, Buck. Knot me, knock me up, c’mon.”

 

Bucky gasped, bottomed out and released. His whole body thrummed with the power of a rut’s orgasm, with the scent of heat drugging his brain as it filled his lungs. Steve hummed happily, coming a sixth time; it drew every last drop from Bucky, who collapsed on top of Steve and lapped mindlessly at his scent gland, petting his sides and marking him with his scent. His hands made their way to the back of Steve’s neck, tilting his head back and up to kiss his mouth. Bucky squeezed gently and Steve sighed, his eyes falling shut.

 

Exhaustion and satisfaction, Bucky guessed, slipped over Steve. Bucky carefully maneuvered them onto their sides, drawing one of Steve’s legs over his hip so his knot didn’t tug on him, then reached for the blankets and pulled them up. Steve settled into Bucky’s arms, the bond between them thrumming with blissful sleepiness. Bucky kissed Steve’s forehead and whispered: “I love you.”

 

He was asleep not long after, too.

 

As he slept, he dreamed about how things could go wrong, mainly, not satisfying Steve; emotionally or sexually. To be honest, Bucky wasn’t sure what to expect of Steve being in heat, least of all him being in a rut. The last time he’d been around an Omega in heat, he’d locked Steve away where he couldn’t reach him right away. Presumably, after that, he’d been locked up, too, but he still couldn’t remember.

 

That had also been the last time he’d had a rut. Bucky had avoided any situation that might put him next to an Omega even in pre-heat.

 

The dreams turned from worst-case scenarios back to sex quickly, however. Then Bucky slowly slipped back into consciousness and realized he was lying flat on his back and Steve was straddling his hips.

 

Bucky’s hands flew up to grip Steve’s waist. Steve let out a breathy laugh and smiled down at him, rolling his hips and getting Bucky deeper in him. There was already spunk cooling on Bucky’s stomach; Steve had come at least once already while Bucky was still asleep.

 

“Fucking hell, Stevie,” Bucky gasped. “Couldn’t wait for me to wake up?”

 

“You were teasing me in your sleep,” Steve panted; he half lifted up and dropped back down, and Bucky let out a hard breath. “You never pulled out, what’s an Omega to do?”

 

“Fuck,” Bucky gasped. “Fuck, Stevie, you’re gorgeous.”

 

“We should do this more often,” Steve told him, grabbing both of his hands and lifting them to his neck and face. Bucky curled one hand around the back of Steve’s neck, but Steve held firm to his other hand. Then he was sucking three of Bucky’s fingers into his mouth and Bucky just about came from the look on his face, probably only the stamina from his rut keeping him in the race. Steve’s eyes fluttered shut, his lips stretching beautifully, his cheeks hollowing as sucked; tongue pulling his fingers into his mouth down to the knuckles. Bucky squeezed the back of his neck and Steve let out a long whimper, sucking harder on his fingers while he rocked back and forth.

 

“Oh, baby,” Bucky breathed out. “You should see yourself, bouncing up and down on my cock, you look wrecked, babydoll, sugar, you look like a dream, like one of my wet dreams come to life.”

 

Steve hummed around his fingers; his eyes were rolling back in his head. Bucky squeezed his neck a second time, then dropped his hand to Steve’s hip and thrust up, hard, into him, meeting Steve’s efforts with reckless abandon. Steve sucked harder on his fingers; Bucky could hardly dream what that gorgeous mouth would look like stretched over something thicker, but that could happen another time. Right now, Steve needed his pretty ass stuffed up with Bucky’s something thicker.

 

“Gonna come on me, baby?” Bucky rasped, dropping his hand to grasp Steve. “Blow your load on my chest while you ride me?”

 

“ _Mmm,_ ” was all Steve could say.

 

“How many times you gonna come this time, huh, pretty? Think it was six earlier, can you get to seven?”

 

Steve hummed something around his fingers, but Bucky guessed from the way the syllables parted on his knuckles that it was his own name. Bucky loved him, loved this so damn much.

 

“Maybe we’ll get to eight,” Bucky said. “Next time, ten, next time twelve. I’m gonna stop you up so full it comes leaking out your pretty hole ‘round my dick, baby.”

 

Steve let out a long, hard gasp, pulled Bucky’s fingers from his mouth – saliva trailed between the tips of his fingers and Steve’s red lips – to throw his head back as he came again. Bucky squeezed his eyes shut tight, groaning heavily, and dropped his wet fingers to stimulate Steve’s scent gland. The scent of his heat swirled in Bucky’s nose, infiltrated his every pore. He scent-marked Steve with his other hand, still thrusting up while Steve came down from his orgasm, bringing him back to full arousal in seconds. Steve bent at the waist and kissed his mouth, lips demanding and impatient, then straightened back up and groaned as he bounced up and down.

 

Bucky grabbed Steve’s hips, holding him firmly, then sat up and scooted backwards so he was sitting against the headboard. Steve immediately pressed their lips together again, his hands pushing into Bucky’s hair, still rocking back and forth. Bucky caught the back of his neck and squeezed, making Steve whimper against his lips and double his writhing on his lap. Bucky pushed his tongue into Steve’s mouth, tasting sweet velvet heat, holding him by the back of the neck with one hand, the other gripping tightly his hip. Steve kissed back with afterglow’s mindlessness, one moment letting his head rest in Bucky’s palm and his mouth hanging slack, the next biting at Bucky’s lips and nearly smashing their noses together.

 

And constantly, he rocked back and forth, like he was starved for the touch. Bucky kept firm pressure on his hip and neck, kissed him without holding back so that it was rough and merciless. He brought Steve to orgasm another six times, keeping his own release lidded for the moment when Steve had had enough. Steve whined, whimpered, and moaned, his breath coming so fast it would have triggered his asthma if he still had it, and after he came a seventh and eighth time in closer successions, Bucky was losing his grip. He ducked his head into Steve’s neck, mouthing at his scent gland until he felt a ninth orgasm building in his Omega and bit down again. This time, Steve came screaming and Bucky let his knot burst at last. He hung on, lost for words, clamping down on his scent gland while Steve’s orgasm milked him dry.

 

When his aftershocks faded, Bucky collapsed against the headboard, exhausted. Steve swayed for a moment, then fell forward against his chest before Bucky could react. Still, he threw up his arms to catch Steve, catch him from the few inches between their bodies that he tipped forward. Steve laughed against Bucky’s throat, then rubbed his cheek over his neck.

 

Bucky ran his wrists over Steve’s spine in response. Steve started to suck lazily on a spot below his ear and Bucky marked his thighs. Steve shifted, then rolled his hips.

 

“More?” Bucky laughed.

 

Steve hummed, shifting again. “Just nice,” he mumbled.

 

“Oh,” Bucky sighed, a little relieved. “Was gonna say, damn, sugar, you’ve worn me out. I need a couple minutes to catch my breath.”

 

Steve laughed softly, nosing at his throat. “‘S okay, think it’s a lull. You did me good.”

 

“Should think so,” Bucky muttered, “you came nine or ten times.”

 

“Eleven,” Steve corrected sleepily. “Twice before you woke up, and once before I woke up.”

 

“Holy fuck,” Bucky said honestly. Steve laughed again. “Got one outta you while you were still asleep, really?”

 

“Woke me up,” Steve said, then yawned. “‘M hungry.”

 

“Sisters are bringing food,” Bucky told him, kissing his temple unconsciously. “What time is it?”

 

Steve waved a hand in the vague direction of the clock. “An hour,” he said flippantly.

 

“Hardy har har,” Bucky answered, then lifted his head to look at the clock. “Half past two.”

 

“PM?” Steve muttered, disbelieving.

 

“AM,” Bucky said. He ran a hand up Steve’s spine, cupping the back of his neck. “I’ll get some food when I can pull out.”

 

Steve’s arms tightened around him. “No,” he mumbled, “no, don’t.”

 

“You gotta eat, doll,” Bucky reminded him.

 

Steve practically clung to him and Bucky hastened to squeeze the back of his neck to calm him. “No, no, stay, don’t go,” Steve said in a distressed babble; Bucky felt dampness on his skin and abruptly realized Steve was crying. “Don’t leave me –”

 

“Steve, Stevie, shh,” Bucky interrupted, he squeezed the back of Steve’s neck and held it, reaching up with his other hand to scent-mark Steve’s shoulder blades and arms, “‘m not leaving, I’m right here, shh, I got you, baby.”

 

Steve sniffed yet continued to cling to him. Bucky shushed him gently, now cradling him against his chest and rocking him, trying to comfort him with the contact. “I’m staying right here, not going anywhere,” he promised.

 

“Don’t go,” Steve mumbled, “don’t go, don’t, stay –”

 

“I’m staying, Stevie, I’m right here –”

 

Steve wasn’t listening to him. Bucky kissed his face and shoulders and neck, tried squeezing the back of his neck and couldn’t placate him. Steve held on to him with an iron grip, his legs squeezing Bucky’s hips tightly, his hands holding fistfuls of Bucky’s hair. His ass pressed firmly onto him, especially.

 

“Do you not want me to pull out?” Bucky asked him gently.

 

Steve, after a second, drew in a long breath and nodded. Bucky kissed his cheek and scent-marked his back again. “I won’t if you don’t want me to,” he said softly in Steve’s ear. Steve took another long, shaky breath and nodded again, his grip on Bucky relaxing a little. He dropped his head onto Bucky’s shoulder, exhaling deeply.

 

Bucky continued to pepper his face and hair with kisses, running his wrists over Steve’s body and whispering reassurances to him. It would make it very difficult to get them food, but maybe in a little while, Steve would be more open to separating. He licked his lips, realizing that he was thirsty, and looked around to see if there was any water nearby. He spotted two canteens sitting on Steve’s night-table and lifted one.

 

“Did you bring these up here, babydoll?” he asked Steve, who nodded. Bucky shifted his hand to cup Steve’s chin, pressed a kiss to the tip of his nose, then unscrewed the canteen with one hand. “Drink a little for me, pretty?”

 

Steve opened his mouth. Bucky lifted the canteen to his lips, then gently tipped it until water spilled into Steve’s mouth. His Omega swallowed, then gulped down more.

 

“There you go,” Bucky murmured encouragingly. “Very good. You’re doing so good, baby.”

 

Steve choked on the water suddenly. Bucky shoved the canteen aside hastily and hit him on the back lightly while Steve coughed. After a second, he shuddered and ducked into Bucky’s neck, hiding his face. He was shaking, though Bucky didn’t know what for. He marked Steve more, then brushed hair away from his face.

 

“What’s the matter?” he prompted lightly.

 

Steve took several long breaths. Then he shook his head, pressing closer.

 

“Stevie, what’s wrong?” Bucky asked again; had he done something wrong? Had he tried to feed Steve too much water, blocked his airways and frightened him? Or said something that startled him? Whatever it was, Steve shook his head harder and hid his face. Bucky petted his hair, pressing his forehead against Steve’s temple. “Baby, you gotta tell me what’s wrong. What’d I do?”

 

Steve shuddered again, then inhaled and held it for a beat before breathing out.

 

“What’s wrong?” Bucky asked again.

 

“Don’t say that,” Steve whispered.

 

Bucky tried to think of what he’d said wrong. “Say what?”

 

“Very good,” Steve forced out. Bucky paused in petting his hair, confused. “He said it. When… Just don’t say it.”

 

Bucky’s blood stopped for a brief second, then rushed back hot. He clenched his jaw, then knocked a finger under Steve’s chin. He lifted his head, but didn’t look Bucky in the eye.

 

“I’ll never say that again,” Bucky swore. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart. No one’ll ever do those things to you again, I’ll never do them and I’ll never leave you, I love you.”

 

Steve shuddered again, then gulped down a long breath and relaxed a little. Bucky reached for the canteen again, and though his own throat was so dry it was sticking to itself, he held up to Steve’s lips again.

 

“Can you drink a little more, Stevie?”  he prompted. “Just a little more, then you can sleep a little before we go get food.”

 

Steve huffed, agitated, but lifted back up and let Bucky press the canteen to his lips. He drank for a moment, swallowing as if the effort tired him, then dropped against Bucky’s chest once more, mumbling sleepily. Bucky took a few long swigs of the water, then screwed the cap back on with one hand and tossed it onto his side of the bed. He ran his wrists over Steve’s back once more, then pulled the blankets up over his shoulders, shimmying down a little on the bed. He continued to pet Steve’s hair and scent-mark every part of him that he could reach, as Steve began to make a quiet humming, like he was purring. Not long later, he slipped back into sleep. Bucky whispered an _I love you_ against his temple, and Steve hummed softly in his sleep.

 

Bucky watched the clock ticking, continuing to mark and pet Steve while he slept. It took over an hour for his knot to deflate, four times longer than it would had Bucky not been rutting, and even as it did, Steve began to rock on him gently while still asleep. Bucky had to bite his lip and hold himself incredibly still until Steve slowed and ceased his motions so it wouldn’t grow again and keep them from going to get food when Steve woke up. It was very difficult; every time he remembered that he had been inside Steve since five something the previous day and hadn’t once pulled out, his heart rate picked up and his blood warmed. Plus, there was nothing more arousing to him just then than the idea of Steve trying to fuck himself on Bucky’s lap while still asleep.

 

The clock ticked on, a steady and monotonous tone that matched the thrum of his pulse in his ears, and eventually, it and Steve’s warm, wearied weight on his body lulled him into a doze.

 

He dreamt about a child. Picking them up, spinning them around through the air, while Steve watched and laughed. Later, when he was roused by Steve lifting his head from his neck, he still remembered vividly a child with dark hair and bright blue eyes.

 

“‘S morning,” Steve mumbled. Bucky raised a hand to his eyes to scrub the gunk of sleep from them. “‘M hungry.”

 

“Let’s go downstairs,” Bucky answered him, his voice gruff from sleep. Steve hummed an agreement and stretched, then squirmed a little in his lap. Bucky caught his hips, stilling him and smiling fondly. “Let’s eat before you work on your next twenty orgasms, angel.”

 

“Maybe two or three first?” Steve asked, catching Bucky’s face with his hands and kissing him.

 

Bucky chuckled into the kiss, but when Steve tried rolling his hips again, he held on firmly to keep him still. Steve whined a little and tried to break free. Bucky pulled back from the kiss, Steve trying to chase his lips, and ducked his head into Steve’s neck to bite gently down on his scent gland. His Omega sighed and relaxed, limbs falling loosely around Bucky.

 

“Let’s get some food,” Bucky said into his neck.

 

Steve sighed a second time. “Fine,” he grumbled. “But I’m not moving.”

 

“Fine with me,” Bucky told him, then locked his arms about Steve’s hips and shifted off the bed. Steve let out a startled noise and threw his arms around Bucky’s neck, legs wrapping around his hips, then laughed.

 

“Now I’m cold,” he complained.

 

Bucky sat momentarily to tug the blanket off the bed and drape it around the pair of them like a cloak. “Better?”

 

Steve merely hummed. Bucky stood again, adjusting his grip on Steve, and started for the first floor. He slid partially out of Steve, and as he stepped from the carpet of their bedroom to the hardwood of the hallway, his foot landed in a patch of liquid. Steve giggled.

 

“Okay, let’s get a quick shower before food,” Bucky announced, turning back for the bathroom. “You’re dripping.”

 

“I think it’s sexy,” Steve mumbled.

 

Bucky swallowed and Steve, whose face was tucked into his neck, laughed again as he felt the movement.

 

“‘M stuffed so full of your come it can’t stay in me,” Steve murmured. Bucky sucked in a very deep breath, trying not to get hard again. “Mm, you like that, don’t you? Like having me dripping around you.”

 

“Dammit, Steve,” Bucky growled. He abandoned the thought of a shower, of food, and dropped Steve onto the bed, attacking his lips in a harsh kiss. Steve made a satisfied noise, fingers tangling in his hair, and Bucky wasted no time in starting up all over again.

 

Another six orgasms from Steve and Bucky’s knot popped again, locking them together. Even still, Steve leaked around him. Bucky may have only orgasmed three times since yesterday, but they’d been longer and harder than normal, with five or ten times the amount of ejaculate each time. Steve appeared delighted with it, and Bucky had to admit, it was fucking hot to see him drip.

 

“Now I have to pee,” Steve muttered.

 

“Shower,” Bucky mumbled. His knot was gonna last an hour or more, and he couldn’t ask Steve to hold it that long.

 

“Ew,” Steve said to that. He had a point.

 

“Be happy _I_ don’t need to pee,” Bucky reminded him, scooping him up again. Steve winced a little, but Bucky held him as securely as he could, walked as carefully as he could into the bathroom. He started the shower running, waited until the water was warm enough, then cautiously stepped into the tub.

 

For a minute, Steve hung on his shoulders while Bucky held him up by his thighs, content for the water to run over them. Bucky couldn’t get soap or anything while he was holding Steve, and he doubted Steve had the brain power to do it himself then. They could shower again later when he didn’t have to hold him.

 

“I still gotta pee,” Steve grumbled.

 

“Go ahead,” Bucky told him.

 

“I don’t wanna pee _on_ you!”

 

“Ain’t got much more options,” he reminded him.

 

Steve grimaced. “This is gross.”  


Bucky raised his eyebrows. “Should’ve peed before you got me to knot you.”

 

“I didn’t have to pee then!”

 

“Just go, Stevie.”

 

Steve grimaced again. Bucky angled them under the shower head so the water ran between them. It was gross.

 

“Ew,” Steve said again.

 

“Ew,” Bucky echoed, but kissed his cheek. He let the water run a while longer, then switched it off and carefully clambered out. Steve held tight to his neck, putting some of his weight on his shoulders by then, while Bucky reached for towels. He dried them both off best he could, then carried Steve back into their bedroom and carefully lay down on the bed.

 

He reached for the water again, shimmying so they were sitting up, and held the canteen to Steve’s lips.

 

“I don’t wanna drink,” Steve said. He began to rock carefully and Bucky had to hold very still. “Wanna come again.”

 

“Fucking hell, Steve,” Bucky exhaled.

 

Steve hummed. Bucky’s knot was still inflated, nowhere near coming down, yet Steve rocked anyway. Bucky’s throat was dry again, and that had to mean that Steve was probably thirsty, too.

 

“Drink somethin’ for me, baby,” he said.

 

“Don’t wanna,” Steve said, gasping a little. He rolled his hips and Bucky let out a sharp groan. “Can you come again like this? Fill me up more?”

 

“ _Fuck,_  Steve.”

 

Steve hummed a second time, increasing his pace and Bucky gripped his hip with one hand to match it best he could.

 

“Need you to drink for me,” he repeated anyway. “Drink a bit and then I’ll give it to you.”  


Steve hung against his neck, mouth open and panting, but leaned back when Bucky lifted his hand to his shoulder and pushed gently. He let Bucky press the neck of the bottle to his lips, gulped down the water, until the canteen was empty. Bucky tossed it aside, reached for the second, unscrewed the lid and pressed it again to Steve’s lips. When he’d drunk a little more, Bucky pulled it away and took a long swig himself. Steve shut his eyes and kept rocking, and Bucky’s fingers trembled when he put the bottle aside on the nightstand. He grabbed Steve by the hips again and gave him what he wanted.

 

Even though his knot was still heavy, Bucky got Steve to orgasm four more times, then came himself on Steve’s fifth. Steve sagged against his chest, Bucky panting for sheer breath and nuzzled his neck gently.

 

“Y’re taking such good care’a me,” Steve mumbled. Something in Bucky purred. “Love you, Buck.”  


“Love you, too, sweetheart,” he answered.

 

“‘M hungry.”  


“Wanna nap before we eat?”

 

Steve shook his head. Bucky nodded, shifting to the edge of the bed, and grabbed the blanket to drape it over his Omega’s shoulders. He grabbed the canteens, too, put the lid on the open one and hung them on his fingers when he stood up. He’d re-fill them when they got to the kitchen.

 

Steve hung on his neck again, breathing hot with an open mouth, and Bucky took the stairs sideways to make sure he could see where he was putting his feet. He kept his back to the wall, too, just to support his balance. There was an old ache in his left thigh, but not enough to waver him with Steve dependent on him. The curtains of the living room windows were shut; Bucky hadn’t even thought of windows, but he guessed that Steve must have pulled the drapes closed the day before. He went to the kitchen, to the fridge, and opened it to search for something he could feed to Steve cold and by hand.

 

“How ‘bout roast, baby?” he asked, lifting out a dish of leftovers. Steve hummed absently, and Bucky put the container on the counter, then Steve’s back, covered by the blanket, against the fridge, and tore away a little piece of meat. He held it up to Steve’s lips, and they parted.

 

Steve sucked the juices off his fingers, and the something in him purred again. He fed him strips of meat, chunks of carrots, and potatoes, until Steve shook his head and wouldn’t eat anymore. Then, and only then, Bucky fed himself a few hunks, eating quicker. Steve was shifting, like Bucky’s knot was pulling too much on him, and Bucky lifted him off the fridge to head for the couch. He lay down on it, and Steve sighed, settling against his chest. Within minutes, he was asleep again. Bucky ran his hands up and down Steve’s body under the blanket, brushing his wrists against his sides, and delighted in the fact that he could no longer count the slats of his ribcage with just a brush of his hand, that a thin layer of healthy fat divided Steve’s skin and bones. He settled his nose in Steve’s hair, falling asleep to the smell of gingerbread.

 

When he woke up, he’d long gone soft and slipped partially from Steve. Steve was still breathing deeply, and for a moment, Bucky considered pulling out completely to go in search of more water, some more food, more blankets, and pillows. Then he remembered the frantic panic Steve had had earlier, in the small hours of the morning, at the mere suggestion of it. He didn’t want Steve to wake up and find him gone. He didn’t know why Steve shrank away from the thought of him pulling out, and he wasn’t sure _Steve_ knew either, but he wasn’t going to chance finding out. He didn’t want to wake Steve either, but his throat was dry again and the sofa wasn’t very comfortable.

 

Bucky pulled the blanket around their bodies more securely, resolving to be uncomfortable until Steve woke up.

 

When Steve woke up, however, Bucky was reminded that an Omega in heat was known for only having one thing on their mind for a reason. Steve woke slowly, while Bucky gently petted his hair and back, then sat up and rolled his hips again.

 

“Morning,” he said, while Bucky swore and caught his hips.

 

“Every fuckin’ time, huh?” Bucky muttered, planting his feet on the sofa cushions to thrust up into Steve.

 

“Every fuckin’ time,” Steve agreed happily.

 

A knock sounded at the door. Steve jerked and Bucky grabbed his waist to keep him still, sitting up quickly.

 

“That’s the sisters,” Bucky reminded him, “they’re bringing us food.”

 

“Oh,” Steve mumbled. “Oh, shit, okay.”

 

“Uh, can I –?” Bucky started, then dropped his hands to Steve’s hips and rubbed his thumbs into him. “I’ll be right back.”

 

Steve’s face screwed up and he jerked to hug him. Bucky held onto him tightly, shushing him gently.

 

“I’ll be right back, sweetheart,” he promised. “I’m gonna take you upstairs and put you back in bed, then I’m gonna get the food from the sisters and come right back. It’d only be a few minutes, angel.”

 

“Don’t want you to go,” Steve said quietly.

 

“I’ll come right back,” Bucky reminded him. He pulled Steve closer, then swung his legs off the couch and stood up, grabbing the blanket to pull around Steve’s shoulders. “Five minutes, Steve.”

 

“Do you have to?” Steve asked as Bucky headed up the stairs.

 

“Yeah, I gotta,” Bucky said sadly, “I don’t like it any more than you do, baby, but the sisters brought us food and I gotta get it. Gotta make sure you’re fed, doll.”

 

“Food,” Steve grumbled. Bucky laid him down gently on the bed and Steve pulled him into a kiss. “Don’t want food,” Steve said then. “Wanna get pregnant.”

 

Bucky ducked into Steve’s neck and bit his scent gland lightly. Steve relaxed, his arms falling onto the bed.

 

“I’m gonna knock you up,” Bucky muttered into his neck. “And I’m gonna take care’a ya the whole time. But you gotta be fed right ‘cause you’ll be eating for two, sweetheart.”

 

Bucky leaned on his elbows and kissed Steve’s forehead. “Five minutes,” he said.

 

“Four,” Steve muttered.

 

“Four,” Bucky agreed. He kissed Steve’s lips, then gently pulled away from him.

 

Steve winced and Bucky apologetically stole another kiss, backing up to grab his bathrobe. He threw it on, then took the stairs back down quickly and checked the peephole out of habit.

 

He didn’t see anyone. Bucky gave a suspicious squint and looked out the mail slot. There was a stack of casserole dishes on the front stoop, but no people.

 

Bucky opened the door and picked up the dishes; there was a note on top, which he glanced at briefly after shutting and locking the door again. The Romanoff sisters had only dropped the food off, rather than lingering on the doorstep, which was smart on their part, probably. He put the dishes in the kitchen, then snagged the canteens and filled up the half-empty one before running back up the stairs.

 

Steve was still where Bucky had left him, his legs hanging off the bed and an arm draped over his eyes. Bucky tossed his bathrobe away and bent over Steve to kiss his collarbones.

 

“You’re back,” Steve mumbled, lifting his arm and reaching for him.

 

Bucky scooped him up and put him farther up the bed, then crawled on top of him and nuzzled his neck.

 

“‘Course I’m back,” Bucky said sweetly, “where would I go when I got you waiting on me?”

 

“I don’ know,” Steve muttered. “My ass feels weird.”

 

Bucky sat back on his heels and looked between Steve’s legs. He swallowed, then bit his tongue.

 

“Baby, you sprung a leak,” Bucky said, leaning back over him. “Think I ought’a put a stopper in it?”

 

“‘S the best idea you had in your life,” Steve sighed. “Get back in me, Barnes.”

 

“I aim to please,” Bucky told him, lining up.

 

Another nine orgasms on Steve’s part and his knot swollen again, Bucky maneuvered them into the middle of the bed and set about aggressively cuddling Steve, who was, for the most part, asleep.

 

“Think we could try a shower later?” Bucky asked.

 

“Mmm,” Steve answered.

 

“We could sit in the tub,” Bucky suggested.

 

“Mhmm,” Steve replied.

 

“How long is’sit gonna take for you to get pregnant?” Bucky asked, grinning and nuzzling Steve’s face.

 

“Hmm,” Steve said.

 

“All you do is fuck and sleep,” Bucky chuckled.

 

“Mhmm,” Steve answered.

 

Bucky laughed yet again, squeezing his arms around Steve, and pulled the blankets over them. He was gonna need to change the bedding soon, there were wet or stiff patches everywhere. Steve was still leaking around him, which didn’t help either the sheets or Bucky’s determination to actually get a shower when Steve woke next. He’d gotten home straight from practically rolling around in engine grease. He’d been nasty enough that if Steve hadn’t been in heat, he’d have threatened to hose him down in the back garden. Add the sweat from – Bucky couldn’t even _remember_ how many times they’d had sex since he’d gotten home, but it had been a lot. So, he was sweaty, there was grease under his arms even, and he had Steve’s clear and sticky cum all over his body let alone his own thick and viscous cum leaking around his dick buried in Steve’s ass.

 

Steve stirred about an hour later.

 

“Before you start bouncing on my dick again!” Bucky said quickly as Steve shifted his hips. “We need to clean up.”

 

“Why?” Steve whined, curling a leg over Bucky’s hip.

 

“Because we’re gross,” Bucky insisted. “Do you think you can stand up?”

 

Steve stuck out his bottom lip. “I could,” he grumbled.

 

“Then can we shower?” Bucky asked.

 

“We could take a bath,” Steve muttered.

 

“Baby, I didn’t shower after work yesterday,” Bucky pointed out. Steve wrinkled his nose, his eyes closing. “I’m really gross, and you’re a lil’ gross, too.”

 

“I can’t be gross, I’m an angel,” Steve said vaguely.

 

Bucky let out a laugh. He rolled Steve onto his back and kissed him sweetly, but held him still when Steve tried to hook his legs behind Bucky’s back.

 

“You’re right,” Bucky told him, “but I’m gross. Can we please shower?”

 

Steve let out a long sigh. He opened his eyes and reached up to comb through Bucky’s hair. Then he wrinkled his nose and jerked his hand away, looking at his fingers.

 

“Did you bathe in oil yesterday?” Steve asked, looking around for something to wipe his fingers on.

 

“Something like that,” Bucky said. He gave Steve another quick kiss. “So, can I pull out?”

 

Steve hesitated, biting his lip. Bucky kissed his cheek and Steve sighed again.

 

“I guess,” his Omega muttered. “For a little while.”

 

“Just for a little while,” Bucky promised.

 

He carefully retracted from Steve’s body, but Steve still winced. Bucky crawled off the bed, then scooped Steve up and carried him into the attached bathroom.

 

“Buck, ‘m still dripping,” Steve said.

 

Bucky put Steve in the bathtub quickly. Steve laughed and hooked his legs over the sides of the tub, slumping in it, and Bucky’s attention got caught on the slow discharge coming from Steve’s ass.

 

“I don’t know why, but that’s fucking hot,” Bucky told him.

 

“‘S cause you’re a dumb Alpha,” Steve said vaguely, “and you like marking things.”

 

“Probably,” Bucky agreed. He knelt by the bathtub and just stared at Steve, at his puffy and loose hole and the spunk leaking out of him. There was a lot. “Think we did it?” he asked then.

 

Steve shrugged. “I don’t know,” he said, then smiled a little dumbly. “But we should probably keep trying just in case.”

 

Bucky gave a snort. “Lemme get the motor oil off, dollface,” he said, getting up. “Water’s gonna hit you in the face,” he adds.

 

Steve gave a groan, but crawled onto his knees and stood up. Bucky pulled the shower head down and turned the hot water on first; it hit the floor of the bathtub and the puddle left by Steve lying down started to disperse. Bucky added the cold water, checked the temperature, then got in and pulled the curtains shut.

 

Steve pushed his arms around Bucky’s waist and leaned on him. Bucky re-angled the shower head to hit his back and pulled Steve in closer, ducking to nuzzle his hair.

 

“What do you wanna call the baby?” Bucky asked him softly.

 

“I don’t know,” Steve mumbled. “Rebecca if it’s a girl.”

 

“While you’re still pregnant,” Bucky added. Steve looked up, squinting. “Well, we won’t know if the baby’s a boy or a girl ‘til they’re born.”

 

“Yeah,” Steve said.

 

“So, while you’re pregnant, what do you wanna call the baby?” Bucky asked again.

 

Steve tipped his head to one side. “Baby?” he said eventually.

 

Bucky snorted. He ducked and kissed Steve, smiling against his lips. “Baby,” he repeated in a mutter. “Real unique, there, doll.”

 

“You think of somethin’,” Steve answered.

 

Bucky screwed up his face in concentration. Steve laughed at him.

 

“Bump,” Bucky decided.

 

“Bump?” Steve snorted.

 

“Yeah, ‘cause they’re just a bump,” Bucky said. He steadied Steve’s shoulders, then knelt down in front of him and kissed his stomach. “Hey there, Bump,” he murmured.

 

“We might not be pregnant yet,” Steve reminded him gently.

 

“Shh, I’m talking to my kid,” Bucky chided him teasingly. Steve giggled and Bucky hugged his middle to lean his head against his stomach. “Hi, Bump, it’s Pa.”

 

“Thought you were Pop,” Steve threw in.

 

“Same thing,” Bucky answered. He nuzzled Steve’s stomach and gave it another kiss. “I hope you’re in there and listening, kiddo, ‘cause your mama and I can’t wait to meet you.”

 

“Thought I was daddy,” Steve laughed.

 

“Same thing!” Bucky repeated, snorting. He stood up and lifted Steve’s chin to kiss him. “Whatever the kid calls us, it won’t matter ‘cause they’re our _kid._ ”

 

“I thought I wanted a kid bad,” Steve giggled.

 

“We’re gonna be _parents,_ ” Bucky said, a bright grin splitting his face.

 

“We don’t even know if I’m pregnant yet!” Steve laughed again, pushing his arms around Bucky’s neck to hang on him.

 

“We’re still gonna be parents,” Bucky insisted. “If you’re not pregnant _now,_ we’ll just keep trying.”

 

Bucky flicked his eyebrows up and down. Steve giggled.

 

“Hurry up and shower,” Steve said, “I think all your cum’s leaked out and I need more.”

 

“Holy fuck, you’re killing me,” Bucky muttered.

 

Steve just laughed at him again and kissed his cheek.

 

“Don’t die before you get me pregnant, daddy,” Steve murmured.

 

Bucky’s heart rate freaked out and a flash of heat went through him. He cleared his throat.

 

“Oh,” Steve said, then slowly grinned. “You liked that.”

 

“Uh,” Bucky said.

 

Steve lifted onto his toes and Bucky automatically grabbed his hips to steady him. “Hurry up and shower so you can knock me up some more, daddy,” Steve cooed.

 

“Holy shit,” Bucky muttered.

 

“Stuff me up with your cum and put a baby in me, daddy,” Steve said.

 

“Oh, _shit,_ ” Bucky exhaled.

 

“I’m gonna have so much fun calling you daddy,” Steve laughed.

 

Bucky seized his waist and kissed him. Steve moaned into his mouth and Bucky almost forgot they were standing in the shower, he was so suddenly consumed with the need to get his dick back in Steve’s ass and not leave there for another day and a half. He kissed Steve hard for a second longer, then – his hands still holding onto Steve’s waist – he leaned his head back and rinsed his gross hair for barely a minute before fumbling to turn the water off. Bucky scooped Steve up from the bathtub, ripped open the shower curtain, and carried him back out to the bed to drop him onto it, still wet from the shower, and crawl on top of him.

 

“You want me to put a baby in you, sugar?” Bucky asked Steve roughly.

 

“Yeah, daddy,” Steve answered, his thin chest heaving as Bucky started to suck on his scent gland. “Knock me up, daddy –”

 

“‘M gonna knock you up, ma,” Bucky promised in a growl. “‘M gonna get you so full of my cum you’re leakin’ it for days. I’m gonna get your belly all round, fill up your tits, babydoll.”

 

“Ohmygod,” Steve giggled but Bucky just kept sucking on his scent gland, drinking up his heat-scent while he lines up against Steve’s well-fucked hole. “You kinky, fucking bastard.”

 

“Speak now or forever hold your peace,” Bucky told him. “I’m sticking my dick in you.”

 

“Please,” Steve answered. Bucky bit at his scent gland, shoving in, and Steve hummed happily. “Keep talkin’ about how you’re gonna get me pregnant.”

 

“I’m gonna get you _so_ pregnant,” Bucky promised and Steve laughed again. “C’mon, doll, this is a new development, don’t laugh at me.”

 

“You’re gonna get me _so_ pregnant!” Steve laughed anyway. Bucky bit his scent gland again, a little harder, and Steve let out a sound that was half a yelp and half a moan. “Fill me up, Buck,” he ordered and Bucky just started fucking into him without mercy.

 

The scent of heat didn’t start to fade until Sunday, and by then, Steve was so exhausted, he slept through Sunday night and well into Monday. Bucky slipped away from him around the middle of the day on Monday to call into both the garage and Doc’s office and let them know he and Steve wouldn’t be coming in until Wednesday at the earliest, loaded up on food and water and carried it all up to their room. Steve woke some time after one, ate enough for four people, and fell asleep again. Bucky stayed in the bed with him, getting up periodically to pee and double check the locks. He knew better than to wake Steve up, but when it started getting dark out and Steve was still snoring, Bucky wondered if he should wake him up just a little to get him to eat.

 

He prodded Steve’s shoulder. Steve carried on snoring.

 

“You should eat,” Bucky said.

 

Steve didn’t wake up. Bucky considered his options. He could leave Steve asleep or coax him awake using his Alpha voice. Which he didn’t really want to do, considering how many times Steve had had his agency robbed by men using Alpha voices.

 

In the end, Bucky couldn’t do it. He just stayed awake half the night, ready to go get supper if Steve woke up, but his Omega just slept through to Tuesday morning.

 

“Are you waking up at last?” Bucky asked as Steve rubbed at his eyes.

 

“What time is it?” Steve mumbled.

 

“Tenish,” Bucky said. “On Tuesday.”

 

“Really?” Steve muttered. He started to sit up and winced; Bucky shifted to his side and put an arm around him. “God, my ass,” Steve said quietly. “It’s Tuesday?”

 

“Yep,” Bucky answered. He lifted Steve’s legs and pulled him onto his lap and Steve settled against his shoulder with a sigh. “You’ve slept almost a whole day just that last time.”

 

“That’s a good sign,” Steve said, then yawned. “I’m hungry.”

 

“I’ll bet,” Bucky chuckled. He got a better grip on Steve, then stood up from the bed. Steve stayed slumped against his shoulder, his eyes slipping shut again. “I didn’t know how to wake you up, you haven’t eaten since yesterday afternoon.”

 

“Y’re s’posed to command me to wake up and eat,” Steve mumbled, yawning again.

 

Bucky cast him a glance. “I didn’t think it would be a good idea.”

 

Steve blinks his eyes open, then nods. “Probably not,” he murmured.

 

Bucky shifted Steve in his arms, then set him down in the kitchen. “The sisters brought us a fuckton of food,” he said, opening the fridge. “We got chicken an’ rice casserole, Shepherd’s pie, some sweet potato casserole –”

 

“Shepherd’s pie!” Steve called in a sleepy but happy voice from the table.

 

Bucky glanced over his shoulder and grinned, pulling the dish from the fridge and setting it on the counter to warm up while he switched on the oven.

 

“Sweet potato casserole sounds good, too,” Steve added.

 

Bucky pulled that out of the fridge. “I’m guessing you don’t want to eat it cold?”

 

“No,” Steve said quickly.

 

Bucky ducked over to kiss his cheek, then fiddled with the oven controls.

 

“We’re naked,” Steve announced.

 

Bucky glanced at him, then at himself. “That’s a good point,” he agreed.

 

Steve pushed back his chair and got up. “I’m gonna go get our robes,” he said, walking around and pecking Bucky on the lips. Bucky watched him go, watching his perky ass sway a little as he walked, and he sighed faintly.

 

“I know you’re looking at my ass!” Steve called as he mounted the stairs.

 

“Obviously!” Bucky answered.

 

He heard Steve’s laughter all the way up to the third floor. Bucky shook his head and headed for the wireless radio sitting on the counter. He switched it on, the only English speaking channel in their area coming on, and moved back to the counter to fix the dishes for the oven. There was an ad for dish soap playing, but after it, the cheery strains of some New Orleans style jazz filled the kitchen. Bucky tapped a foot along with the music, poking and prodding the sweet potato casserole so it would heat evenly, then he heard Steve’s footsteps on the stairs again.

 

“Hey, handsome,” Steve said, hugging him from the back.

 

“Hey, dollface,” Bucky answered, turning around to kiss him.

 

Steve lifted onto his toes, his hands locking behind Bucky’s neck, and Bucky entertained the idea of lifting Steve and putting his pretty ass on the counter or the table, until he remembered that neither of them had cleaned up since Steve’s heat had faded and Steve’s pretty ass was probably pretty gross.

 

“Clothes?” Bucky mumbled against Steve’s lips. Because if Steve was wearing something on his pretty ass, then it wouldn’t matter if Bucky put him on the counter.

 

“Mhmm,” Steve replied vaguely.

 

Bucky broke the kiss and looked around, spotting their bathrobes draped over a chair. He gave Steve a gentle push, then picked up the smaller of the two and pulled it around his Omega before donning his own. Steve leaned on him again and Bucky set his hands at Steve’s waist, then kissed his hair and locked his wrists at the small of his back.

 

The song changed to a slower tune. Piano notes and then a sax and drums. Bucky abruptly smiled.

 

“Hey,” he murmured, nudging Steve’s head with his nose, “Steve, listen.”

 

Steve lifted his head, looking towards the radio in the corner. He came to grin, too.

 

“It’s our song,” Bucky said into Steve’s hair.

 

“Yeah?” Steve replied, looking up at him with his eyes creasing at their corners as he smiled. He hooked his hands behind Bucky’s neck and started to sway lightly to the music.

 

“Yeah,” Bucky answered. He pulled Steve into a proper dance, taking his hand and his waist and letting his feet take on the simple two-step rhythm he’d learned and tried to teach Steve so many years ago. “At least, I always figured it was.”

 

“Me, too,” Steve said softly.

 

Bucky leaned his forehead against Steve’s and grinned at him, then started to sing softly along to Billie Holiday’s voice as the lyrics began.

 

“Your eyes of blue,” he crooned sweetly and Steve grinned wider, “your kisses, too,” Bucky sang, “I never knew what they could do. I can’t believe that you’re in love with me.”

 

Steve’s cheeks are turning a lovely shade of pink and Bucky couldn’t believe he was in love with him.

 

“You’re telling everyone I know,” Bucky sang gently, “I’m on your mind each place you go. They can’t believe that you’re in love with me.”

 

Bucky spun Steve around and pulled him back in, rocking in time with the music, and still singing along.

 

“I have always placed you far above me,” he sang, “I just can't image that you love me. And after all, is said and done, to think that I’m the lucky one, I can’t believe that you’re in love with me.”

 

Steve cupped his cheek and lifted onto his toes to kiss Bucky. Bucky kissed him back, his hands finding Steve’s waist again to hold onto him as the music carried on and concluded, moving into a new song already, but they weren’t really listening anymore. It wasn’t just the two of them, kissing in their kitchen, happy and in love in ways that Bucky had thought he’d only get in dreams.

 

Well, maybe it’s just the three of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _yes, the miscarriage tag is staring you in the face. if you enjoyed this chapter, leave a comment and tell me, i love comments so much. let me know what you hope to see from me in 2019, if you're equally shook about These Days as you are about this fic, anything you want. happy new year and happy 20biteen, everybody!_


	15. Six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _a short lil something for y'all this week. enjoy!_

**_[november 12th, 1945]_ **

 

Technically, Doc Erskine’s office was closed already. Steve was standing by the door, looking out the window and waiting for Bucky’s truck to pull into the driveway.

 

“Do we wait until Papa comes or do I tell you now?” Doc called from behind him.

 

“Shh!” Steve said quickly, turning around. “Wait for Bucky!”

 

Doc chuckled. Steve lifted back onto his toes and looked out the window. He let out an excited squeal when Bucky’s truck appeared, then hastily unlocked the door as the truck parked and Bucky got out.

 

“Come inside!” Steve called, waving him on. Bucky hopped down and jogged up, slipping through the front door and giving him a quick hug.

 

“Hi, doll,” Bucky greeted him.

 

“Shush!” Steve said, turning to Doc Erskine. “Well?”

 

“Hello, Bucky,” Doc said with a laugh.

 

“What does it say!” Steve demanded, frustrated.

 

“A minute ago you are so insistent I _not_ say,” Doc laughed again. “Now you want to know?”

 

“We were waiting for Bucky!” Steve insisted while Bucky laughed, too. “Am I expecting or not?”

 

Doc made a show of consulting the paper in his hands. Steve grabbed Bucky’s arm and tugged hard on it, biting his lip. Bucky shook his shoulder gently.

 

“Let us see here,” Doc said musingly.

 

“Doc!” Steve said, whining.

 

Doc leaned forward to smile at them over his reading glasses perched on his nose. “Congratulations,” he said.

 

Steve shrieked and Bucky whooped, scooping him up and spinning him around. Steve grabbed his face and kissed him, then ran to hug Doc, too. Doc laughed and patted his shoulder while Bucky pulled Steve back in to hug him tightly.

 

“Congratulations, congratulations,” Doc repeated while Bucky lifted Steve off his feet again. “Now, I hope I do not have to tell you to take it easy, Steven?”

 

“No, sir,” Steve answered happily.

 

“I must stress that you eat plenty of meat and potatoes,” Doc added, “particularly during the first few months. Your baby is depending on you to provide plenty and plenty of nutrients, and you are still a little skinny, Steven.”

 

“Meat and potatoes,” Steve echoed. He looked at Bucky. “Prepare to eat Shepherd’s pie for the next nine months.”

 

“I’d be happy to eat Shepherd’s pie for the rest of time, babydoll,” Bucky promised, smacking a kiss to his cheek. Steve grinned, leaning on him. “Anything else we should know, Doc?”

 

“No heavy lifting,” Doc added. “Light exercise only. No more trousers, they are no good for growing baby. No smoking! I care not what other doctors may say, no smoking!”

 

“Haven’t touched a cigarette in years,” Steve promised.

 

“I’ll keep mine in the garage,” Bucky agreed.

 

“No stress, either,” Doc continued. “Very bad, stress is no good for the baby. The books I order say to avoid sports, too.”

 

“Sports?” Steve questioned, confused.

 

“Much too exciting,” Doc confirmed. “At the most, avoid seeing it in person or watching it on television.”

 

“Can I listen to it on the radio?” Steve asked, since their local channel sometimes played baseball games from the states.

 

“Hmm,” Doc mused, tapping his chin and looking at the lab results for Steve’s pregnancy test. “At home only, I think.”

 

“Alright,” Bucky agreed again. He bent and smacked Steve’s cheek with another kiss. “Rest, for you.”

 

“Now, work,” Doc began and Bucky straightened up again, pulling Steve into his chest. “None of it,” Doc said.

 

“Wait, what about you?” Steve asked.

 

“I have hired a relief girl,” Doc told him. “Temp agency, Steven, that is why they exist. You may come back after the baby is born, but I would say not until after the child is six months old.”

 

“Oof,” Steve muttered. “I’d better get a hobby.”

 

“Knitting is popular with expecting Omegas,” Doc advised.

 

“I’m sure one of the sisters could teach you,” Bucky said. “Knitting or sewing or crochet, or whatever.”

 

“I’ll ask,” Steve said. Bucky gave his cheek another kiss and Steve grinned, delighted.

 

“I say again, congratulations,” Doc told them, bowing at the waist. “Now, off you go! Meat and potatoes!”

 

“Yes, sir!” Bucky answered with a smart salute, then swung an arm around Steve’s shoulders and walked him out.

 

Steve waved to Doc Erskine, who was locking up, then let Bucky lift him into the truck and settled back against the seat, his hands on his stomach. He smiled down at his stomach, imagining he could feel his and Bucky’s child under his palms already.

 

“Hi, baby,” he whispered. “I’m so happy you’re there.”

 

Bucky got in on the other side, then cranked the engine. He paused to look at Steve and grin and Steve grinned back, then reached over and took his hand. He pressed it to his stomach and his grin softened into something sweeter.

 

Bucky leaned over and kissed his cheek for the hundredth time. “When do you want to tell people?” he asked.

 

“We have to wait eight weeks,” Steve said immediately. It was something his mother told him a long time ago. “It’s bad luck otherwise.”

 

“Eight weeks,” Bucky agreed. He rubbed his palm against Steve’s stomach, then put the car in reverse and backed out of the driveway. Steve held his stomach again, just looking down at himself and smiling. “We’ve still got leftovers from your heat,” Bucky added, “but no Shepherd’s pie anymore.”

 

“I’ll make some,” Steve said to his stomach.

 

“Baby’s gonna get sick of Shepherd’s pie,” Bucky laughed.

 

“Baby doesn’t know the difference,” Steve claimed.

 

Bucky looked at him, a light smile on his face and his eyebrows raised, and Steve just laughed. He looked back to his stomach and started slowly petting a hand up and down it.

 

“You won’t mind ma eatin’ nothin’ but Shepherd’s pie, will you?” he asked softly. “No, you’ll love it. My mama ate Shepherd’s pie twice a day every day while she was waiting on me and I didn’t mind.”

 

“I love you, Steve,” Bucky said abruptly.

 

Steve looked up, grinning. “I love you, too,” he said happily.

 

Bucky reached over and pressed a hand to Steve’s stomach, keeping his eyes on the road. “And I love you, baby.”

 

Steve laid his hand over Bucky’s, holding it in place. “We both love you very much, baby,” he said to his stomach. “We can’t wait to meet you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _steeb is 100% preggers rn, yes. i'll see you next week!_


	16. Seven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Content warning: it's time to face the miscarriage tag. blood and gore(?) is described. reader discretion advised.**
> 
>  
> 
> _january is a tough month for them._

**_[january 26th, 1946]_ **

 

It had been a particularly stressful day. Bucky got home late, tired and favoring his left leg, to find the first floor of the house dark and empty.

 

Bucky looked around, walking into the kitchen, but there was no sign of activity. Bucky didn’t want to be one of those Alphas that expected their Omegas to be waiting by the door when they got home, but lately, Steve had at least had dinner on the table when he got home from work.

 

The stillness was worrying.

 

Bucky cast a glance at the clock, reasoning that maybe Steve had gotten tired of waiting for him – he _was_ late – and had gone to bed. He got tired quickly these days. Bucky left his boots by the door, worked off his overalls as he headed upstairs and left them in the laundry room on the second floor to deal with later. Nearing the third floor, he paused.

 

The air tasted sour. Bucky started back up the stairs, slower this time, and as he neared his and Steve’s bedroom, the sour smell grew stronger. It smelled like rotten vanilla, heavy on the alcohol and spoiled.

 

Bucky broke into a run and threw open the bedroom door. Inside was empty, but light spilled from the bathroom door. He bolted to throw open that door, then ran into the bathroom. What he saw had his heart stopping in his chest.

 

“Steve!” he gasped, falling to his knees by the bathtub.

 

Steve shrank from him when Bucky reached out. His face was stained by tears, but he wasn’t crying any longer. There was dark blood staining the bathtub.

 

“What –” Bucky started, looking between Steve’s face and the blood, still flowing slowly towards the drain. “Steve?”

 

“I’m sorry,” Steve said hoarsely.

 

“We gotta get you to a hospital –” Bucky started, but Steve shook his head, his face screwed up horribly. “You gotta see a doctor!” Bucky insisted.

 

“Can’t do nothing,” Steve muttered.

 

He looked down at his hands, which were cupped against his body. Bucky looked too, and his hands were just as bloody as everything else.

 

“I’m sorry,” Steve said again, abruptly choking in a sob, and he pulled his hands away from his body to show a gray, bloody lump in his palms.

 

Bucky fell onto his ass, covering his mouth with a hand.

 

“I don’t kn–know what happened,” Steve stammered thickly. “I – I just started _hurting_ and th–then there was blood everywhere an– and –”

 

“Stevie,” Bucky murmured, reaching out with a hand to touch his mate.

 

Steve shrank away from him again. Bucky felt a pang in his chest, but he got back on his knees to shuffle closer and grasped Steve’s shoulders. Steve flinched from him still, but Bucky pulled him against his chest anyway. Bucky kissed Steve’s cheek firmly and held him, looking at the miniscule lump in Steve’s hands.

 

Bucky wasn’t even sure how Steve had been able to find it in all the blood and mess. It was barely the size of a grape, but maybe it was the shape of its head that had made it stand out from all else.

 

“I’m so sorry,” Bucky croaked. “I should’ve – I should’ve been able to tell, I should’ve been here –”

 

“I’m sorry,” Steve said a third time. He trembled, then quaked with a heavy sob. “I don’t know what happened!”

 

“It happens, sweetheart, it happens sometimes,” Bucky answered him, holding tightly to him now. “It’s not your fault –”

 

“I m–moved the couch last w–week,” Steve choked out.

 

“It’s not your fault!” Bucky said again quickly. “That didn’t do a thing, b– sweetheart. It’s not your fault, sweetheart.”

 

“Yes, it is,” Steve sobbed. Bucky clutched to him harder. “I t–told you I couldn’t have chi–children, I told you –”

 

“It’s not your fault,” Bucky echoed, his throat spasming as he started to cry, too.

 

“I told you,” Steve whispered brokenly.

 

“It’s not your fault,” Bucky just repeated.

 

“I t–told you,” Steve sobbed.

 

He lifted the gray lump to cradle it to his chest and Bucky pressed a hand over Steve’s, getting blood on him, but he didn’t care. He wanted to touch his child.

 

“I don’t know what happened,” Steve said, his voice cracking.

 

“It just happens sometimes,” Bucky whispered. “It’s nobody’s fault. Just wasn’t time for it.”

 

Steve was shivering, covered in his own blood and when Bucky touched his forehead, he was burning up.

 

“I gotta take you to the hospital,” Bucky said.

 

“No,” Steve sobbed.

 

“Yes,” Bucky insisted, “sweetheart, what if there’s something – What if you’re hurt, too? You gotta see a doctor.”

 

“I don’t want to,” Steve said, abruptly sharp. “If there’s something wrong with me, let it!”

 

“Sweetheart,” Bucky murmured, shifting again to cup Steve’s chin and pull his face to meet his. “I don’t want to lose you, too.”

 

Steve jerked his chin out of Bucky’s hand, slumping in the tub, slipping in all the blood. “No,” he mumbled. “I don’t care.”

 

“I care!” Bucky said. He looked at Steve, his mouth hanging open, and couldn’t _understand._ “Steve –”

 

“It is my fault,” Steve said.

 

“Steve,” Bucky said, desperate, hurt, and confused, “no –”

 

“It’s my fault,” Steve repeated, crying still. The sour vanilla was stronger than the iron scent of the blood. “I knew – I knew something l–like this would happen, I knew I c–couldn’t ju–just run off and settle down! It’s all my fault –”

 

“Sweetheart,” Bucky said, at a loss for words.

 

“It’s my fault,” Steve repeated numbly. He sucked in a breath, almost choking on it, but got it back out and pulled back his hands to look at the lump that was their miscarried child. “I can’t ha–have any of this –”

 

“Any of what?” Bucky cut in. “Steve, Stevie, don’t talk like that –”

 

“I don’t deserve it,” Steve said, like he couldn’t hear Bucky at all, “I’m just a whore –”

 

“Steve!” Bucky interrupted.

 

“I’m sorry,” Steve said again.

 

Bucky looked around the bathroom. There was blood on the floor, on the toilet seat. He leaned over the edge of the bathtub and lifted Steve under his arms, sitting him up. Steve barely responded. Bucky looked at the gray lump in Steve’s hands, wondering what they were meant to do with a miscarried baby. He had to take Steve to the hospital, but they had to take care of the baby first.

 

“We should bury it,” Bucky said quietly.

 

Steve nodded slowly. He was crying silently now.

 

“I’ll get –” Bucky started, then broke off. Get what? A shoebox? A mint tin? What the hell did you do for coffins for babies that didn’t even have faces yet? Bucky swallowed the lump in his throat.

 

“We should name him,” Steve said abruptly.

 

Bucky set his hands on Steve’s shoulders. “Okay,” he said gently.

 

Steve just looked at the gray lump for a long time. Bucky kissed his hair, then hugged him from the back again.

 

“Gabriel,” Steve said softly. “The angel.”

 

Bucky nodded. “Gabriel,” he agreed.

 

“And –” Steve started, then swallowed, blinking away tears. “A headstone. I want a headstone.”

 

“I’ll get one,” Bucky promised him.

 

“Un–under the oak tree,” Steve kept talking. There were tears streaming down his face. “In th–the backyard.”

 

“Okay,” Bucky agreed again. He took a deep breath, looking at the lump, then dropped his forehead onto Steve’s shoulder and exhaled. He lifted his head again and looked at Steve. “What do you want to put him in?”

 

Steve sucked in a hard breath and let it out in little bursts. “I don’t know,” he muttered. “I don’t know –”

 

“It’s okay,” Bucky broke in as Steve started sobbing again. “I’ll get a – a box?”

Steve just kept sobbing. Bucky hugged him tighter and pressed his face into Steve’s neck. He had to get him to a doctor. He had to get all the blood cleaned up. His heart was breaking over the loss of their child, but the child was gone already and he could still save Steve.

 

“I’ll get a box,” he said. He kissed Steve’s scent gland and the bondmark covering it, then reluctantly got up.

 

His hands shook as he dug around in the cabinet behind the mirror, but he dug up a tin for bandages that opened from the side and stuffed it with cotton balls. Bucky knelt beside the bathtub again, holding the makeshift coffin out to Steve.

 

Steve held the lump to his chest again, still crying. Bucky wrapped an arm around him again, holding him while he cried.

 

“It’s not your fault,” Bucky said quietly. “It’s not your fault.”

 

Steve kept crying. Bucky held the cotton-lined box, just waiting for Steve to be ready, until Steve pried his hands away from his own chest. He hiccuped once, took a deep breath, then laid the gray lump amongst the cotton balls. The cotton was bigger than the lump.

 

Bucky shut the tin carefully. Steve started crying again. Bucky put the tin on the sink, then turned on the faucet in the bathtub.

 

“Let’s get you cleaned up,” he said gently.

 

Steve curled up at the end of the bathtub, his bloody hands dangling at his sides. Bucky used a cup to rinse the blood off of him, moving him when Steve didn’t seem to have the heart to do it himself. Bucky soaped up a washcloth and cleaned Steve, wiping away the blood and clots from his lower body. Steve slumped in the bathtub again, looking into space. Bucky didn’t know how to help him.

 

“I’m gonna take you to a hospital,” Bucky told him.

 

Steve shook his head.

 

“I have to,” Bucky insisted. The lump rose in his throat and he swallowed it; he had to be in charge of his emotions here, not the other way around. “If there’s something –”

 

“Let it happen,” Steve said with startling viciousness.

 

“I’m not letting it happen,” Bucky answered him.

 

He bent and lifted Steve out of the tub, adjusted him in his arms, then carried him into the bedroom and put him on the bed. Steve immediately turned onto his side and curled into a fetal position. Bucky hesitated by the bed, then went back into the bathroom and reverently picked up the tin on the sink. He took it back into their bedroom, set it on the dresser, then grabbed a towel and sat on the bed next to Steve. His wet skin was dampening the blanket, but Bucky simply dried him off. Steve rolled over when Bucky pulled on his shoulder to dry his other side. He wasn’t crying anymore. Bucky didn’t know if that was bad or good.

 

“Come on,” Bucky said gently, lifting him up. “Let’s get you dressed.”

 

“I don’t want to,” Steve said weakly.

 

“It’s okay,” Bucky told him.

 

Steve didn’t fight him at all. Bucky got him into shorts and one of the house dresses they’d bought after Doc told Steve that the waistbands on trousers wouldn’t be good for his growing stomach. It was cold out, so Bucky rolled knitted stockings onto his legs and didn’t bother with a garter to clip to their tops. Steve just sat there as Bucky dressed him, staring at nothing. Bucky didn’t know what else to do.

 

“Let’s go,” Bucky said.

 

“We have to bury –” Steve started, then stopped, swallowing.

 

Bucky looked at the tin on the dresser, then took Steve’s hands and kissed them. “Okay,” he said. He stood up and helped Steve to his feet, holding his waist, then took the tin off the dresser. Steve took it from him and clutched it to his stomach, which was still flat.

 

Bucky walked Steve to the first floor. He stopped him and made him put on a coat, then tugged one on himself and walked with him out the back door. Bucky got the shovel out of the shed and Steve stood by the oak tree, his face white in the moonlight. Bucky dug a hole, a foot square and a few feet deep, then knelt and held out his hands for the tin.

 

Steve held onto it for a moment. Bucky just waited.

 

Steve took a sharp breath, looking down, then pressed the makeshift coffin into Bucky’s hands with trembling fingers. Bucky set it carefully in the hole, then rose to his feet and set about filling it again. The wind stung his face and made the tears burn. Bucky set the shovel against the tree, then put his arms around Steve and they stood there, looking at the fresh earth.

 

“I’m sorry,” Steve whispered.

 

“It’s not your fault,” Bucky answered.

 

Steve finally turned into him. Bucky tightened his arms as Steve fisted his hands in the front of his shirt and started to shake from sobs again.

 

“It’s not your fault,” Bucky said again quietly.

 

But he knew Steve didn’t believe him. He didn’t know how to convince him.

 

The doctor said there was nothing wrong with Steve. That sometimes these things just happened. The hospital still kept Steve for a few days because he’d lost a lot of blood. They put him on fluids and gave him something to help him sleep, and Bucky stayed back from work to sit by his Omega. Steve hardly spoke their entire time at the hospital. Bucky could tell he was angry and that some of that anger was directed at him for making him go at all, and he was alright with that. Steve would see soon enough that it had been the right thing, soon enough he’d stop bristling with anger over what had happened. These things really did just happen sometimes, it wasn’t ever the fault of any Omega. It just happened.

 

When the hospital released Steve, Bucky took him home and Steve just went to bed. Bucky had called Pa Romanoff when he’d had to take Steve in to tell him that he’d be gone a few days, but hadn’t explained it. Bucky lay next to Steve, but Steve didn’t seem to want to be touched. Or to touch him. Bucky waited until Steve fell asleep, then slipped out and headed to the phone. He didn’t know what to do to help his Omega.

 

_“Romanoff and Sons.”_

 

“Hey,” Bucky said; his voice was weak. “It’s Yasha.”

 

_“Privet, Yasha! Stepushka alright?”_

 

“He’s –” Bucky started. He let out his breath and let his head fall against the wall with a quiet thud. They hadn’t announced the pregnancy yet, but it had been pretty obvious. Bucky couldn’t ever stop touching Steve’s stomach and Steve’s scent had slipped off into a vague browned sugar smell. It had been pretty obvious.

 

_“Yasha?”_

 

“He miscarried,” Bucky said bluntly.

 

Old Man Romanoff was quiet.

 

“He’s not doing good,” Bucky continued. “I mean, he’s alright, I took him to the hospital and they said there was nothing wrong with him – They kept him for a few days, to get his color back up, but there wasn’t anything wrong with him. But he’s…”

 

 _“Mourning,”_ Old Man Romanoff said when he didn’t finish.

 

“He thinks it’s his fault,” Bucky said very softly.

 

_“Is not his fault.”_

 

“I’ve been telling him that, but he doesn’t believe me!” Bucky told him. He turned and put his back to the wall, slipping down to the floor and holding the receiver against his ear. “He doesn’t even want me to touch him.”

 

_“Is his first, yes?”_

 

“Yeah,” Bucky sighed, pushing a hand through his hair. “Our first.”

 

 _“Sometimes, it happen,”_ Old Man Romanoff started. _“Doctors, they say there is nothing wrong, but that is not true.”_

 

Bucky stiffened. “You mean –”

 

 _“Physical, no,”_ Old Man Romanoff added and Bucky deflated. _“But the heart. It hurt, and that is what is wrong.”_

 

“I don’t know what to do,” Bucky admitted. “He – He thinks it’s his fault because of some – some things that happened to him before, things he had to do. He thinks… I don’t know, that God is punishing him.”

 

Old Man Romanoff sighed across the phone. Bucky sat there, looking at the wall without hope of what to do.

 

 _“There is old tale from where I come,”_ Old Man Romanoff began. _“The Good Lord gave seed to young couple on eve of autumn. Fire broke out and harvest all burned, leaving them with barely enough to feed through winter. They worry of what they would do, there is not enough food. They pray, and the Good Lord takes the seed back until the next summer.”_

 

“There’s no more rations,” Bucky muttered. “We got plenty of food.”

 

_“Not point. Sometime, the Good Lord see you are not ready. Sometime, the Good Lord give and sometime he take. But children, they are precious to Lord. He would not use child for punishment, Yasha.”_

 

“How do I get him to believe that?” Bucky asked.

 

 _“You tell him,”_ Old Man Romanoff answered. _“And tell him. And tell him until he believe you.”_

 

Bucky blinked. The same thing he’d done to convince Steve that he really did love him.

 

“Okay,” he said.

 

_“We have supper Sunday. Bring Stepushka; solitude no good for him.”_

 

“What about –” Bucky started, then stopped, swallowing the lump in his throat. “What about the kids?”

 

Old Man Romanoff hummed. _“You two talk. If no good for him, no good for him. But attend church. If no good, deti stay home and we come to you. Don’t come to work until Stepushka ready.”_

 

Bucky swept a hand over his face. “I don’t know if we can afford that,” he muttered.

 

_“No worry, Yasha, I pay you anyway. You work short days, week after next. Stepushka come, too, take over office if he like.”_

 

Bucky nodded vaguely. Doc Erskine’s practice would have kids, too.

 

“Thank you,” he said. “I – I don’t know how to repay you for all your kindness.”

 

_“Bah, no worry! Least we can do for Captain America.”_

 

Bucky jerked off the wall. “What?” he said.

 

 _“You do not think we are clueless,”_ Old Man Romanoff chuckled. _“We know what Americans sound like, Yasha.”_

 

“How –” Bucky started. He shook himself. “How long have you known?”

 

_“Your picture in paper in April.”_

 

“Since _April?_ ” Bucky spluttered. “But –! But I hadn’t even started working for you then!”

 

_“We figure, you have reasons. You tell papers you are dead, must be reason. We keep hush-hush, no worry.”_

 

Bucky blinked at the floor. “Thanks,” he muttered.

 

 _“You are family, Yasha,”_ Old Man Romanoff told him. _“We protect family.”_

 

Bucky got up from the floor. “I should – I should get back to Steve. I don’t wanna leave him alone for long.”

 

 _“I ask daughters to come visit,”_ Old Man Romanoff said then. _“They know what is like. They talk to him.”_

 

“Thank you,” Bucky said yet again. “Tomorrow?”

 

 _“Tomorrow,”_ Old Man Romanoff agreed. _“Yasha?”_

 

Bucky pulled the phone back from where he’d been about to hang it up. “Yeah?”

 

 _“Stepushka may seem like he does not want touch,”_ Old Man Romanoff said, his tone oddly warning, _“but you do not, you confirm all his fears.”_

 

Bucky hesitated. “But… If he tells me to not –”

 

 _“Be gentle,”_ Old Man Romanoff advised, _“but do not not touch him. He will think you blame him.”_

 

“I don’t!” Bucky said quickly.

 

 _“I know, you know, Stepushka is not sure,”_ Old Man Romanoff said. _“Remind him you love him. Stay with him. Make sure he smell like you.”_

 

“I will,” Bucky murmured.

 

_“Poka, Yasha. Good luck.”_

 

“Poka, Romanoff,” Bucky answered quietly, then set the phone down.

 

He stood there for a second, then turned and headed back up the stairs. Steve was still asleep, curled up in the bed. Bucky looked at him for a while, then sat down by his feet and set a hand on his leg.

 

Steve slept on. Bucky ended up looking at the floor, his thumb sweeping over Steve’s calf.

 

He’d figure out what to do about a headstone in the morning. He got up and took off his shirt and slacks, then crawled into the bed behind Steve and pulled him into his chest. Steve still slept and Bucky buried his nose in his hair.

 

He smelled faintly like sour vanilla, and under it, still like browned sugar.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _y'all_


	17. Eight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _happy hump day, have some angst_

**_[march 7th, 1946]_ **

 

They’d only bought a few things for the nursery.  There was a changing table, a crib, and a rocking chair. Bucky had boxed up everything else they’d bought and put it in the attic, but he hadn’t moved the furniture yet.

 

Steve pushed back on his toes to tip the rocking chair back, let his slippered feet slide forward, and pushed back again. Natasha sat in another chair that she’d brought in just next to him, filling in a crossword. Steve was staring at the wall, which they’d taken the paper off of so he could paint a mural, and rocked back and forth with his hands in his lap. He had planned a country scene with the characters of _Winnie the Pooh._ He hadn’t started it. Natasha had brought the radio in, but she was listening to a French channel.

 

“What are you going to do for Yasha’s birthday?” Natasha asked him.

 

Steve lifted his shoulders. He should make a cake. He didn’t want to.

 

Wanda knocked on the door, stepping inside. “We made soup,” she said. She neared Steve in the rocking chair, her hands folded in front of her. “Are you hungry?”

 

Steve shook his head.

 

Natasha set down her crossword and looked at him. Wanda sighed.

 

“Alright,” Natasha said, getting up. She put her crossword on her chair, switched off the radio, then took Steve’s hands and pulled on him. “You’re going to eat.”

 

Steve pulled his hands away. “No,” he said quietly.

 

“Yes,” Natasha answered. She took his arms and pulled him to his feet. Steve was too tired to fight her. “There’s no point in you starving to death, Steve.”

 

Steve didn’t answer her, because, personally, he disagreed. Wanda took his other arm and they walked him out of the barren nursery, taking the stairs down. Anya was in the kitchen, stirring a pot on the stove, and Dina sat at the table slicing a loaf of bread.

 

“There you are!” Anya said as Natasha and Wanda walked him in. “You need meat on your bones, Stepushka.”

 

Steve sat and Natasha walked away, but Wanda hovered nearby. She touched his hair and he flinched away from her. She stopped.

 

“Nice stew,” Anya said, setting a steaming bowl in front of him. Steve stared at it, his hands in his lap. “Here now,” Anya added, putting a spoon in it for him.

 

“I make Irish bread for you,” Dina said, putting a thick slice of soda bread next to his bowl. “Taste, is good?”

 

Steve picked up the bread and nibbled at it. He nodded absently.

 

“Made good?” Dina asked.

 

Steve nodded.

 

“Eat,” Anya told him, prodding his shoulder. “You need strength for new season.”

 

Steve felt nausea prickling at his stomach and he pushed the bowl away, covering his mouth with a hand. Anya sighed and pulled out the chair next to his.

 

“It come if you want it or no,” she said. She pulled the bowl back. “You need weight.”

 

“You’re wasting away,” Wanda added softly. She knelt next to his chair. “It’s not good for you to keep doing this, Steve.”

 

“New season right around corner,” Anya said firmly. She picked up the spoon and held it up to his lips. “You already nesting, Stepushka. Eat.”

 

Steve reluctantly took the spoon from her. He put it in his mouth and the broth tasted like ash. He set the spoon back in the bowl, swallowing.

 

“Good,” Anya said. “Eat all. Then rest.”

 

“I’ve been doing nothing but resting,” Steve said hoarsely.

 

“A little more won’t hurt,” Wanda told him.

 

Steve picked up the spoon again, stirring the bowlful of stew. Chunks of potato and celery floated alongside cabbage leaves and parsnips, beans and little bits of meat popping up, too. He was sure it was a very good stew, but he wasn’t hungry.

 

He heard Natasha in the hallway talking quietly on the phone. Anya, Dina, and Wanda sat with him quietly, eventually getting their own bowls of stew and slices of bread, and Steve ate in small stages. Natasha returned and served herself, sitting down across from him.

 

“I called Bucky,” Natasha told him. “He’s coming home soon.”

 

Steve didn’t respond to her. He stirred his bowl again.

 

“Eat,” Anya reminded him.

 

Steve ate another spoonful, then pushed the bowl away. Anya pushed it back.

 

“All,” she insisted.

 

He shook his head.

 

“You not leave this table ‘til you eat all,” Anya decided. She gave him a stern look. “Eat, Stepushka.”

 

“She means it,” Wanda added.

 

“She force it down throat,” Dina said, chuckling abruptly. The sound was foreign. “She force stew down _my_ throat after my first.”

 

“I force stew down your throat,” Anya told him with a finger jabbing in his direction. “Eat.”

 

“I’m not afraid of you,” Steve answered with a soft but cold smile, remembering with vivid and violent detail his last years in New York. “I’ve had worse things forced down my throat.”

 

Anya pursed her lips. Wanda reached over and set a hand on his arm, drifting a thumb over his skin. Dina clucked her tongue and Natasha frowned at the table. Steve looked down at his bowl; none of them knew. If they knew, they wouldn’t be here. If they knew, they’d understand that he had deserved it. If they knew…

 

“Eat,” Anya said yet again.

 

Steve picked up his bread and tore a little bit of it off. He dipped it into the broth, then stuck it on his tongue and chewed slowly.

 

“Very good,” Anya told him; Steve tensed at the words, but no one seemed to realize. Anya just tapped his bowl with her own spoon. “Good progress, very good.”

 

Steve stared at the bowl for a minute. His stomach churned.

 

“Oh,” Dina clucked sadly when Steve jumped up and ran for the bathroom.

 

Anya and Wanda chased after him, little that he needed them. Steve hit the tiles in the first-floor bathroom and started retching into the toilet. The smell of vomit made him remember Schmidt and it just got worse. Anya pressed a cold cloth to the back of his neck and Wanda swept his hair away from his forehead, and Steve just kept retching. He emptied his stomach of what little he’d eaten, then just kept spitting up bile. The bile reeked and Steve lost track of where he was, so sure that he was really back in New York, he could even hear Schmidt yelling about what a disgusting and useless creature he was.

 

“Deep breaths, Stepushka,” he heard behind him, Anya's soft and gentle voice. “Deep breaths.”

 

It ripped him back to Montreal, away from memories of Schmidt. Steve heaved a few more times, but there didn’t seem to be anything left for him to throw up. He fell back, shaking, and Anya immediately wiped his face off with the cold cloth. Wanda flushed the toilet, but the smell of bile remained.

 

“Up you get,” Anya told him.

 

Hands curled under his arms and lifted him to his feet. Steve leaned back on whoever had helped him up and Anya took his hands, guiding him into the kitchen. There were hands at his waist to steady him still, and Dina and Natasha met them at the table, pulling out a chair for him. Steve collapsed into it, then dropped his arms onto the table and pillowed his head on them, his shoulders beginning to quake.

 

“It’s alright,” someone murmured in his ear. “It’s alright, sweetheart.”

 

Steve lifted his face and blinked at Bucky. Bucky gave him a sad smile and kissed his cheek.

 

“It’s alright,” Bucky repeated.

 

Steve wanted to throw himself at him, to hide in his scent and let Bucky shield him from everything, but he couldn’t. He curled back in on himself, hiding his face in his arms, and started quietly sobbing again. Bucky wrapped him in his arms anyway, despite Steve stiffening and leaning away, and his Alpha kissed his hair a few times.

 

“I love you, sweetheart,” Bucky murmured in his ear. “It’s not your fault.”

 

Steve shook his head. Bucky held onto him tighter.

 

“It’s not your fault,” he kept saying.

 

He kept insisting that it wasn’t Steve’s fault, but Steve knew better. Eleanor had told him he’d never get to have a normal life, she’d told him he’d never be able to move on once he’d done what he’d done. She’d told him.

 

“Drink this,” he heard Dina saying. “Will make you feel better.”

 

Steve lifted his head and Bucky pulled a mug toward him, a hand at his back and rubbing slow circles between his shoulder blades. Steve picked up the mug with hands that shook so bad the broth in it sloshed and Bucky cupped it with his other hand, steadying it for him. Steve drank a little bit, tasting the beef broth and lemon and simple spices, then put it down, needing to rest.

 

“Happens sometimes,” Anya said, a hand on his shoulder. “Let it come out, be gentle after. Good for you to get it out.”

 

Steve stared into the depths of his mug. His teeth were chattering.

 

“We go home,” Dina said then. “Natashka stay?”

 

“No,” Bucky answered tiredly. “Thank you, though. I’ve got him.”

 

“We see you tomorrow,” Dina agreed. Anya bent and kissed Steve’s cheek, then so did Wanda and Dina. Natasha simply patted his shoulder.

 

“Sleep, Stepushka,” Anya said, rubbing the back of his neck gently. Steve stared into his mug of broth, remembering his mother doing that. “You feel better in morning.”

 

“We’ll see ourselves out,” Natasha said.

 

“Thank you,” Bucky told them again.

 

Steve heard the front door shutting. He put his head in his hands. Bucky stood up next to him, pulled a chair over, then sat again and curled an arm around him. Bucky put his forehead on Steve’s shoulder and Steve sat there, trying to get his breath back.

 

“Drink your broth, Stevie,” Bucky said gently, pulling the mug back toward him.

 

Steve didn’t want to, but his stomach was still twisted and the broth was soothing. Bucky helped him raise it to his lips and Steve took careful sips. He put it down again, drawing in a long breath.

 

Steve could still smell bile. He lifted the damp cloth Anya had left on the table and unfolded it, getting to a clean side, then wiped his face with it. He tossed it weakly further down the table, trying to get the smell away from him. He swore he could smell blood and spunk on the cloth, too.

 

“What happened?” Bucky asked in a soft tone. Steve shrugged. “Did you eat too quick?”

 

Steve shrugged again. He lifted the mug of broth and was able to hold it on his own.

 

“You gotta get your strength up,” Bucky said quietly. Steve set down the mug. “At least – For me? You’re worrying me, sweetheart.”

 

Steve stared down into the mug. Bucky hadn’t called him _baby_ since they’d lost Gabriel. He missed it, surprisingly strongly.

 

“Your cycle’s starting over,” Bucky added. “We can –”

 

“Can what?” Steve asked him sharply, staring into the mug. “Try again?”

 

Bucky was quiet. Steve shook his head.

 

“It’d just be the same,” he whispered coldly.

 

“You don’t know that,” Bucky answered.

 

Steve fell back in his chair, covering his grimacing mouth with a hand and shaking his head. Bucky reached up and brushed through his hair but Steve hardly felt it.

 

“I used to have a tea,” Steve said abruptly. He cupped his hand over his mouth and stared at his faint reflection in the glass tabletop with disgust. “I bought it from a medicine woman,” he murmured from behind his hand. “She said it was made from Asafoetida – this herb from the far east that would keep me from getting in the family way.”

 

Bucky was quiet. Steve gripped his mug of broth, feeling so angry. With himself.

 

“I drank it twice a day, every day, for four years,” Steve said softly. “Until the Nazis invaded. The woman who sold it to me warned if I kept drinking it, it might damage me. Permanently.”

 

“Sweetheart,” Bucky murmured.

 

“It didn’t stop it,” Steve told him bitterly. “It killed it. Just killed it when it happened.”

 

Bucky just kept brushing his hair. Steve stared down at his mug, then let out his breath. He covered his eyes and rubbed them, then dropped his hands to the table.

 

“At least, that’s what she told me,” he murmured. “I don’t think I ever…”

 

“It’s alright,” Bucky promised him. “We can – I’ll get rubbers.”

 

Steve gave a full-body shudder and shook his head quickly. Bucky pressed closer, shifting to the edge of his seat.

 

“Or we can find that tea,” Bucky suggested.

 

“No!” Steve snapped.

 

Bucky fell silent. Steve took a deep breath. They hadn’t done anything since they’d lost Gabriel, either. Sometimes Bucky woke up with morning wood and he just went into the bathroom to take a cold shower. Steve was always torn between relief that he didn’t have to do anything and worry that Bucky no longer wanted him.

 

As time went on, Steve wasn’t very relieved anymore.

 

“You shouldn’t have come with me,” he said under his breath.

 

“What do you mean?” Bucky asked. “‘Course I had to come –”

 

“No, you didn’t _have_ to,” Steve spat out. “And you shouldn’t’ve. You should’ve stayed in the states, married somebody not – not broken –”

 

“Steve, don’t talk like that,” Bucky cut in.

 

“I’m no good,” Steve said anyway; he shut his eyes, not wanting to see his reflection or Bucky’s concerned looks. “I’m not good for anything anymore, I’m not even good for fucking –”

 

“Steve, Steve, no –”

 

“– not anymore,” Steve said, then broke off to heave a breath. He covered his face in his hands and leaned on the table. Bucky pressed against him, his fingers digging into Steve’s skin.

 

“Don’t talk like that,” Bucky begged him hoarsely.

 

“You deserve better than me,” Steve choked out.

 

“No, sweetheart, no, that ain’t true, not a bit –”

 

“You deserve somebody whole,” Steve insisted. “Younger and better –”

 

“Steve, don’t say that,” Bucky cut him off, sounding like he was about to start crying. “It’s not true –”

 

“W–Wanda could carry to term,” Steve said, starting to sob. Wanda, young and fresh and innocent, everything he’d sold to pay for dry beans and stale bread. She would have made a much better Omega for Bucky, even unpresented as she was. It only made her purer. “You should’ve married somebody like her,” he whispered bitterly.

 

“Steve, sweetheart, look at me!”

 

Steve shook his head in his hands. Bucky pulled at his wrists, at his arms.

 

“None of that is true!” Bucky told him. “Steve, you know I love you, I’ve always loved you –”

 

Steve kept shaking his head. Bucky dragged him out of his chair and onto his lap, but Steve wouldn’t be calmed. He managed to get his head on and quit sobbing, then tried to get up. He didn’t want Bucky touching him.

 

Bucky locked his arms around him. Steve pushed at his hands.

 

“No, I’m not letting you go,” Bucky said softly.

 

“Let me go,” Steve insisted.

 

“No,” Bucky said.

 

Steve yanked at his hands, then hit him with a fist as hard as he could. Bucky only held on tighter.

 

“Let go!” Steve insisted again. He’d started crying again. “Leave me alone!”

 

“I can’t do that,” Bucky told him, pressing his face into Steve’s neck. “I can’t, Stevie, I can’t.”

 

“You promised!” Steve yelled abruptly. “You promised you’d never touch me if I said no!”

 

“I can’t,” Bucky said again, his voice cracking.

 

Steve hit his hands, then turned and started pounding on his chest. Bucky didn’t let go of him, his hands only tightened and Steve quickly lost the fight in him. He collapsed against Bucky’s shoulder, crying harder than before, and Bucky started to gently rock him back and forth in his lap.

 

“I swear, it wasn’t your fault,” Bucky murmured over Steve’s sobs. “I love you. It wasn’t your fault.”

 

“Yes, it was!” Steve croaked.

 

“It wasn’t,” Bucky just repeated. He got an arm under Steve’s legs and stood up. Steve grabbed his neck in favor of losing his balance and falling from Bucky’s arms and Bucky carried him up the stairs. “It wasn’t your fault,” he kept saying.

 

Steve weakly whispered that it was.

 

Bucky lay him on the bed and crawled on top of him when Steve tried to roll away. His arms locked behind Steve and Steve tried again to break free by beating on Bucky’s chest, but his blows were weak and Bucky refused to let go.

 

“You promised,” Steve whispered in a hoarse voice.

 

“I won’t let you go,” Bucky told him. “I promised I wouldn’t leave you.”

 

Steve gave in and pressed against Bucky’s chest, still sobbing. Bucky kept holding tightly.

 

“It’s not your fault,” Bucky whispered.

 

Steve just shook his head. He was too weak to fight anymore. Bucky was wrong. Steve had brought all of this on himself with the first three dollar fuck. He’d told himself it would just be the one time, that he just needed to pay for groceries that week until he got a new job. Three dollars turned into six, and then ten, and then he was on the streets every night baring his throat to any Alpha that would look at him. He’d brought all this on himself.

 

“I love you,” Bucky swore to him. Steve couldn’t believe him. “I love you and it wasn’t your fault.”

 

Steve couldn’t believe him. God wouldn’t let him have a happy ending. He had sold that away years ago.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _see you next week!_


	18. Nine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _yes i have more angst for you, i'm sorry. fyi to anyone concerned, this chapter features Mass and the rite of confession._

**_[april 28th, 1946]_ **

 

Bucky sat upright in bed, looking at Steve’s huddled form under the blankets. His Omega had managed to sleep through the night for once and Bucky loathed the thought of waking him up, but they had to get ready for church. Pa Romanoff had made him swear he’d take Steve every week – Said that the routine would bring the color back to his cheeks, but skipping it even once would be a slippery slope. Even still, Steve hadn’t been sleeping well since his prescription for laudanum ran out in February.

 

Bucky checked the clock once more, then got up and headed for the kitchen, figuring he could get some coffee going and bring Steve breakfast in bed. He’d done that on Christmas and Steve had loved it then, maybe it would cheer him up again now. They had a while before they had to really get going to get to church; it really only took so long because Bucky had to cajole Steve into going at all. He hated having to leave the house, but Bucky figured the healthy glow from sunlight on his face he got whenever they got back made up for Steve being mad at him.

 

Steve was mad at him a lot these days. Bucky didn’t blame him.

 

He got the coffee going on the stove and started making eggs. Steve had gotten better at keeping food down, but anything more than plain fried eggs in the morning would mess him up sometimes. Bucky hated it whenever Steve threw up because he knew it only made him think about that night with Schmidt, so he did his best to keep Steve fed but settled.

 

Coffee and a plate of eggs in hand, Bucky headed back up the stairs. Steve was still curled up under the blankets, so he put the plate and coffee down on the nightstand and went to get in bed with him again. He paused when he saw Steve’s eyes open.

 

“Hey,” Bucky said softly, crouching by the bed and reaching up to touch Steve’s cheek.

 

Steve pulled away from him, then rolled over. Bucky let out his breath, trying not to feel hurt.

 

“I brought you breakfast,” Bucky said, standing up.

 

“Fine,” Steve said.

 

“We’ve got a little time before we’ve got to get dressed for church,” Bucky added. “There’s coffee?”

 

Steve simply lay there. Bucky walked around to his side of the bed and lay down facing Steve. Steve rolled over again.

 

“Steve,” Bucky sighed.

 

“I’m tired,” Steve said. “I don’t want to go.”

 

“I know,” Bucky told him. He put a hand on Steve’s shoulder and Steve jerked to get him off. “Steve, c’mon.”

 

“What?” Steve said. “Come on what?”

 

Bucky didn’t know what to say. He shuffled closer, until he was almost pressed to Steve’s back, then lay his face on Steve’s pillow and breathed. His scent had come back in weeks ago, but it almost always had a sour undertone to it. Bucky carefully curled an arm around Steve’s waist, bringing him in. Steve didn’t fight.

 

“I love you,” Bucky said into his hair.

 

Steve said nothing. He hadn’t said it back in months.

 

“Will you eat a little?” Bucky asked.

 

“Does it matter if I want to or not?” Steve countered.

 

Bucky exhaled again. “You know you’ve got to.”

 

“No, I don’t,” Steve said simply. “I don’t have to do anything.”

 

“You do have to eat,” Bucky told him gently. “You’re getting better every day, Stevie.”

 

“I know,” Steve answered coldly.

 

Bucky pressed his face into Steve’s hair, then tucked his chin over Steve’s head and exhaled. “Steve, I – You gotta know this is hard on me, too.”

 

Steve was quiet, but he did pull the blankets up higher on his body.

 

“Please,” Bucky whispered. “Please, don’t make me lose you, too.”

 

His voice cracked as he said it. Steve, again, didn’t answer him. Bucky shut his eyes when they started to prickle, blinked a few times to clear up the tears, then hid his face in Steve’s hair. It had gotten thick and soft near the end of December, but by March, it was brittle and thin again.

 

Bucky wanted Steve to see another doctor, but Steve kept refusing and Bucky didn’t have the heart to force him again.

 

Abruptly, Steve rolled over in Bucky’s arms. He hugged Bucky around the neck and buried his face in Bucky’s shirt, and he was crying. Bucky clutched to him, pushing his face into Steve’s hair, and Steve finally clung to him.

 

“I’m sorry,” Steve whimpered into his neck. “I d– I didn’t m–mean to hurt you –”

 

“It’s okay,” Bucky told him, “I’m not mad. I’d never be mad.”

 

“I just –” Steve said, his voice cracking, as well. “I get so _angry,_ it’s not fair!” 

 

“It’s not,” Bucky agreed with him. “It isn’t fair at all.”

 

“Why?” Steve whispered brokenly. “Why d–did any of this ha–happen? Why d–does God ha–hate me?”

 

Bucky hugged him tighter. “God doesn’t hate you, sweetheart.”

 

“Then why?” Steve hissed.

 

Bucky shook his head. “I don’t know. But God doesn’t hate you. And he wouldn’t take Gabriel because you’d done wrong once – Children are precious, remember? God wouldn’t use a baby to punish anybody.”

 

Steve didn’t seem to have anything to say to that. He hiccuped and wormed closer. Bucky nuzzled his hair and started running his wrists down Steve’s back. Steve’s nesting period had been going on for over a month, but throughout it, Steve had pulled away whenever Bucky tried to scent mark him. It was probably only the fact that they still slept in the same bed that kept Bucky’s scent layered on him.

 

But now Bucky marked him gently. Over and over. Steve hiccuped a few more times, and as the minutes passed, his breathing evened.

 

“Will you eat a little for me?” Bucky asked him softly.

 

Steve pressed his forehead into Bucky’s shirt, then he nodded. They sat up, Bucky keeping his arms around Steve, and Steve pulled the plate of eggs from the nightstand. Bucky made sure Steve ate at least one before he ate, and after another few minutes silence, Steve put down his fork and leaned on Bucky.

 

“Do we have to go to church?” Steve murmured.

 

“Yeah,” Bucky answered. “It’s good for you, sweetheart.”

 

Steve sighed. “Okay,” he said, almost surprising Bucky. Steve hadn’t wanted to do anything that was good for him since they’d buried Gabriel. “Okay,” Steve mumbled, reaching for the coffee.

 

He drank some of it and Bucky drank the rest, then they got up. Steve was still wearing dresses regularly, but he’d have to wear one to church anyway. Bucky put on slacks and suspenders, watching Steve do the buttons at the back of his dress. Eventually, Bucky walked up to him and did the rest, leaving Steve to rest his hands on his flat stomach.

 

Bucky hugged him and rested his head in the crook of Steve’s neck. Steve leaned against him, exhaling softly.

 

“I love you,” Bucky murmured.

 

“I love you, too,” Steve finally whispered it back.

 

Bucky turned him around and pressed their lips together gently. Steve curled his fists around Bucky’s suspenders and held onto him. Bucky locked his arms around Steve’s thin body.

 

They walked to church. It was too close to bother taking the car. Steve wore a wide straw hat and Bucky kept an arm around him, forgoing public decency just to touch his Omega. They found the Romanoffs inside and Bucky held Steve’s hand as he sat near the end of the pew next to Wanda. Bucky gave her a quick smile as he sat next to Steve, then took Steve’s hand and held it in his lap between both of his.

 

The bell rang, marking the hour. The attendance rose and Bucky tucked Steve’s hand into his elbow while the clergy and choir entered, lead by altar boys with candles and a heavy cross. The opening prayers were said and hymns were sung, and the attendance sat again. Bucky held Steve’s hand between both of his again. Father Chebykin sang the prokeimenon and read the epistle, then began the morning’s gospel reading.

 

“May God, through the intercessions of the holy, Divine Liturgy of St John Chrysostom glorious, all praised Apostle and Evangelist, give speech with great power unto Thee that bringest good tidings, unto the fulfillment of the Gospel of His Beloved Son, our Lord Jesus Christ,” Father Chebykin recited in preparation for the reading.

 

“Amen,” the deacon answered.

 

“Wisdom, Aright!” Father Chebykin called. “Let us hear the Holy Gospel. Peace be unto all.”

 

“Glory to Thee, O Lord, glory to Thee,” the people, Steve and Bucky included, answered.

 

“Let us attend,” Father Chebykin said. “The Book of John, chapter eight, verses one through eleven.”

 

Bucky’s gaze slipped to Steve’s hand in his lap. Steve’s head was bowed.

 

“ _Then everyone went home,_ ” Father Chebykin began to read. “ _But Jesus went to the Mount of Olives. Early the next morning he went back to the Temple. All the people gathered around him, and he sat down and began to teach them. The teachers of the Law and the Pharisees brought in an Omega who had been caught committing adultery, and they made her stand before them all._ ”

 

Steve’s hand abruptly tightened on Bucky’s as he drew in a sharp, soft breath. Bucky held onto him with a vice grip.

 

“ _‘Teacher,’ they said to Jesus,_ ” Father Chebykin read, “ _‘this Omega was caught in the very act of committing adultery. In our Law Moses commanded that such an Omega must be stoned to death. Now, what do you say?’_ ”

 

Steve’s hand shook in his, but Bucky didn’t let go. He remembered this story, how had he not reminded Steve of it before? Steve should have read this months ago!

 

“ _They said this to trap Jesus, so that they could accuse him,_ ” Father Chebykin continued to read. Bucky was astonished of how perfect the timing was. “ _But he bent over and wrote on the ground with his finger. As they stood there asking him questions, he straightened up and said to them, ‘Whichever one of you has committed no sin may throw the first stone at her.’ Then he bent over again and wrote on the ground. When they heard this, they all left, one by one, the older ones first. Jesus was left alone, with the Omega still standing there. He straightened up and said to her, ‘Where are they? Is there no one left to condemn you?’ ‘No one, sir,” she answered. ‘Well, then,’ Jesus said, ‘I do not condemn you either. Go, but do not sin again.’_ ”

 

Father Chebykin shut his Bible and kissed it, then made the sign of the cross over it. “Peace be unto Thee that bringest good tidings,” he concluded.

 

“Glory to Thee, O Lord, glory to Thee,” Bucky answered with the rest of the people.

 

Steve was silent. Bucky transferred one arm to around his shoulders and squeezed him, looking down under the brim of his straw hat. He was crying.

 

The service continued and concluded. Bucky ushered Steve out of the church before anyone could notice his tears. They were meant to go to the Romanoff’s for lunch, but Bucky took Steve home. The minute they were indoors, Steve dropped onto the sofa in the sitting room and covered his face with his hands. Bucky sat next to him, putting an arm around him.

 

Steve shook for a long time. Bucky just held him. Finally, Steve lowered his hands and took a long breath.

 

“I want to go to confession,” he said quietly.

 

“Then let’s go,” Bucky answered.

 

Saint Barlaam’s didn’t have confessional booths the way Steve’s church growing up did, but Father Chebykin knelt with those who wished to confess before the altar. Bucky saw Steve’s hands were shaking as they waited in the back of the church for Steve’s turn, but Steve seemed determined. Bucky wanted to go with him, but confessions were one of the few things not shared between married partners. He waited in the back while Steve walked forward on somehow steady feet.

 

Bucky watched Father Chebykin help Steve kneel on the padded bench, then lay his hand on Steve’s shoulder and pray with him. Bucky stood in the back, letting the seats be taken by those who needed them more despite the old ache in his left leg. He saw Steve’s head bowing and his shoulders trembling and Father Chebykin performing the sign of the cross. Steve’s confessions took the longest, but finally, Father Chebykin took off his _epitrachil,_ the vestment sash around his neck, and draped it over Steve’s thin shoulders. Bucky watched Father Chebykin recite the Prayer of Absolution with his hand laid on Steve’s head, then remove the _epitrachil_ and help Steve to his feet.

 

Bucky edged closer to the pews as Steve walked down the aisle back to him. Steve took his hand and lead him aside as another church member went to give confession and Bucky touched Steve’s cheek.

 

“Do you want to go?” Steve asked him, not looking at him.

 

“Later,” Bucky said, pulling him in for a soft kiss.

 

Steve seemed relieved as they walked out. Bucky kept an arm around his shoulders.

 

“Father Chebykin suggested we renew our vows,” Steve said. “Let’s go to the Romanoff’s.”

 

“Sure,” Bucky agreed. “Did you tell him…?”

 

Steve nodded. “I had to start at the beginning. My – My last confession was three years ago.”

 

He broke off, looking at his hands as he wrung them. Bucky pulled him a little closer.

 

“He told me to stop throwing stones at myself,” Steve whispered. “Romans eight. _‘There is no condemnation now for those who live in union with Christ Jesus.’_ He said I had to stop throwing stones at – at myself and accept that I’d been forgiven. It isn’t my place to condemn, only Christ can condemn. Romans eight, thirty-four, _‘Who, then, will condemn them? Not Christ Jesus, who died, or rather, who was raised to life and is at the right side of God, pleading with him for us.’_ That’s what he told me.”

 

Steve finished a little thickly. Bucky leaned over and kissed his hair; Steve was holding his hat in his wringing hands, having taken it off to attend confession. Steve took a deep breath and stopped wringing his hands to reach up and touch Bucky’s sitting on his shoulder.

 

“But he suggested we retake our vows before the church,” Steve restated. “Since, technically, we never had a wedding.”

 

“We can do that,” Bucky answered.

 

“And he suggested you confess,” Steve added. “You’d have to if we retook our vows.”

 

“I can do that,” Bucky agreed. He squeezed Steve’s shoulders. “Are you… Are you better? Now?”

 

Steve nodded slowly, then let out his breath again. “I feel like there’s a weight off my back,” he admitted quietly.

 

“Good,” Bucky said.

 

Steve leaned into him. “Father Chebykin told me God didn’t take Gabriel as punishment. That we just weren’t ready and that was why.”

 

Bucky gave him another kiss, pressing his lips to Steve’s brittle hair slowly, tenderly. “Do you believe him?” he asked.

 

“Yes,” Steve said. “I believe it now.”

 

Bucky sagged in relief. He felt like there was a weight off his back, too. He gave Steve’s hair another kiss, then rested his cheek there as they walked to the Romanoff’s home. Steve hadn’t wanted to attend Sunday supper with the family since January, and when Belka opened the door to meet them, Bucky saw the relief in everyone’s eyes as they rushed to hug them. Alian and Lyon ruffled Bucky’s hair like he was a kid, Dominik and Yurik clapped Bucky on the shoulder hard enough to rattle him, Misha punched him in the arm and Grigory shook him bodily when he shook Bucky’s hand. Alyona and Katerina pinched his cheeks, Dina and Belka squeezed the life out of him almost when they hugged him, Anya and Innessa rocked him side to side when they hugged him. Pa Romanoff lifted Bucky off his feet, even. They were gentler with Steve, but Bucky didn’t mind. Steve was just hugged and had his cheeks patted.

 

Then Inessa and Misha’s son Tomek came barreling out of nowhere and collided with Steve’s legs. Everyone went quiet. Steve stumbled, looking down at the little boy with wide eyes, and Bucky started to reach out, to shoo Tomek away.

 

Then Steve bent and scooped Tomek off the ground, tucking him against his chest. Bucky set his hand on Steve’s shoulder as Tomek rubbed his face into Steve’s neck.

 

“Where you go?” Tomek asked Steve. “Miss Stepushka!”

 

“Oh, darlin’,” Steve sighed, accent thick with Brooklyn and emotion.

 

Bucky curled his arm around Steve’s shoulders, remembering Mrs. Rogers sighing in just the same way whenever Steve came home with a cut or scrape or busted lip. Steve held Tomek tighter, and eventually, the group around them dispersed, leaving just Innessa and Anya standing by.

 

“The children all missed you,” Inessa said.

 

“You hold Kirochka,” Anya decided then, speaking of the little girl she’d given birth to last winter. “Good for you now. Come.”

 

Steve set Tomek down, but Tomek fisted a hand in his skirt and followed them into the sitting room. Anya came in with a bundle in her arms.

 

“She nap,” Anya said, carefully laying Kirochka in Steve’s arms. The baby stirred, kicking her hands and feet, and Steve smiled sadly at her. Bucky sat next to him and Tomek crawled onto the couch on Steve’s other side. “She good baby,” Anya added, “fusses very little.”

 

Bucky curled his arm around Steve’s waist, unable to think of anything but the little gray lump that had been all they ever had of their Gabriel. Kirochka, this beautiful little girl, had once been a little gray lump just like Gabriel.

 

Steve continued to smile sadly at Kirochka. She opened her eyes and blinked up at them, then beamed a toothless grin and waved her hands at Steve’s face.

 

“You come help with baby,” Anya said then. Steve and Bucky looked up. “You come help, you learn. I need extra hand with five others.”

 

“I can do that,” Steve said quietly.

 

“I bring Tomek and Polina,” Inessa added. “Polina not so little now.”

 

“Okay,” Steve agreed, looking back at Kirochka.

 

Inessa scooped up Tomek and sat in his place. “Baby is good for nesting,” she told Steve. “When are you due?”

 

Bucky knew she didn’t mean another baby. Steve bit his lip.

 

“Soon,” Bucky said quietly.

 

Anya knelt and then sat on the floor in front of the sofa, reaching up to let Kirochka wrap a tiny hand around one of her fingers. “Do you try again?”

 

Steve clenched his jaw, then shook his head. Bucky tipped his forehead against Steve’s temple, feeling sadness in his own heart as well as Steve’s melancholy across the bond.

 

“Not now, at least,” Steve murmured. “I need… More time.”

 

“Then you call,” Anya said. Steve looked up at her. “When is time, you call and we bring little ones. Build big nest in sitting room. Little ones make it hurt less.”

 

Tomek was looking between the three Omegas with big eyes. “What hurt?”

 

“Stepushka’s season,” Inessa told him, bending and kissing his cheek. “You will understand later.”

 

Tomek frowned at Bucky. Bucky just shrugged.

 

“Will it work?” Steve asked Anya cautiously.

 

“Is what to do when Alpha cannot be there,” Anya answered. “Is what we did when husbands went to war.”

 

“It works,” Inessa said.

 

Steve looked at Bucky, his eyes wide.

 

“If that will work, let’s do it,” Bucky told him. “It’s better than – than other ideas.”

 

Bucky put a hand on his shoulder, leaning their foreheads together. He’d been dreading trying to care for Steve; they didn’t want to try again yet, but Steve might forget that while in the throes of heat. If having children nearby would soothe Steve’s urges, Bucky was glad to try it.

 

“And if you are ready, you go upstairs and we go home,” Anya added. “Since Alpha there, you can.”

 

Steve shrugged, looking back at Kirochka.

 

“It’s difficult,” Inessa said softly. She touched Steve’s arm. “I didn’t want it to come after I lost my first.”

 

“But little ones make it easier,” Anya repeated. “Make Alpha more worried about them, you less itchy. They go all sleepy and cuddly. All pile in big nest and listen to radio, read book.”

 

“Maybe,” Steve mumbled.

 

Bucky understood his reluctance; he wasn’t too sure he wanted other Omegas around while he was rutting, either, even if they were like family. Maybe if his actual sister or mother were there –

 

Bucky pushed away the thought. He tipped his head against Steve’s, looking down at Kirochka, who had fallen asleep in Steve’s arms.

 

“We’ll talk about it,” Steve said eventually.

 

“We come day two,” Anya added. Steve looked up and she gave him a sad look. “Day one always bad, best to stay upstairs. Day two, we come. Only stay for days.”

 

Steve nodded. Bucky wasn’t sure why they couldn’t come for the first day, but they knew better than him, he reasoned. For one, he was an Alpha, for another, he’d only been around an Omega in heat twice.

 

“It might work,” Steve agreed.

 

Anya patted his knee. “When you ready, you try again.”

 

Steve leaned his head on Bucky. Bucky kissed his hair.

 

“Okay,” Steve said softly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _officially the church steve and bucky and the romanoffs attend is a russian orthodox church, however, i changed a couple of things to better fit the story, so if you are russian orthodox and this is iffy soz. i figured the church probs is just one of a few english-speaking churches in the area so it tweaked a few things like having pews instead of having everyone stand in order to serve a more diverse congregation. they're still eastern orthodox tho. i hope you liked this and i'll see you next week!_


	19. Ten

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _our boys are doing better, i promise_

**_[may 5th, 1946]_ **

 

The very next Sunday, Steve touched Bucky’s shoulder during Mass. When Bucky had leaned to the side, Steve had whispered, “It started,” in his ear and Bucky had nodded. After the service was over, Steve decided he wanted to go to lunch at the Romanoff’s still, since he’d only just begun pre-heat, and Bucky figured it was best not to argue. Steve spoke briefly with Anya and Inessa, who nodded and promised to do their best to help him, then he sat with the younger children in the sitting room with Polina, Inessa’s daughter, on his lap. Bucky hovered nearby, but Steve seemed content to play with the kids. Belka and Dina pressed leftovers on them before they left and Steve leaned heavily on Bucky on their way home.

 

“Do you want them to come?” Bucky asked as they entered the house. He locked the door behind him, guiding Steve through the vestibule.

 

“Day after tomorrow,” Steve answered. “We need to set up a nest in there.”

 

He gestured to the living room. Bucky put a hand on the back of his neck and guided him in there, pushing him down onto the sofa, then put away all the leftovers. When he came back, Steve had fallen asleep on the sofa.

 

Bucky let him sleep and built the nest by himself, then carried him upstairs and dressed him for bed. Steve hardly stirred until Bucky got into the bed with him, and then, he simply reached out in his sleep. Bucky drew him into his arms and settled his nose into his hair.

 

He woke up to heat-scent. Bucky drew in a sharp breath and tightened his grip. Steve whimpered softly, his hands scrabbling at Bucky’s front.

 

“Steve?” Bucky murmured, then nuzzled his hair. “Stevie, you awake?”

 

“Yeah,” Steve muttered. “I need – _Shit,_ it hurts, it hurts, Buck –”

 

Bucky rolled them over and started to lick at Steve’s scent gland. Steve’s whimpers died off, but he was twisting under Bucky.

 

“I can’t –” Steve said. “Buck, I need you, I need you –”

 

“It’s the heat,” Bucky reminded him. He was already rutting, but he knew Steve didn’t want to try again yet. “You’re alright, doll.”

 

“I need you,” Steve whimpered.

 

Bucky bit gently into Steve’s scent gland and his Omega relaxed some. Bucky licked at it, then nuzzled his neck.

 

“How about my fingers?” Bucky suggested.

 

Steve gave a sharp nod. Bucky pulled Steve back onto his side, then reached under his nightshirt and swept up some of the slick on his legs. Steve pressed into his chest as Bucky gently worked a finger into him, then two, until eventually, he had all four fingers in him and gently pumping in and out.

 

“There,” Bucky murmured. “There, now. Is that better?”

 

Steve gave another nod. Bucky kissed his hair.

 

“Go back to sleep, angel,” Bucky told him. “I’ll keep you full. Go back to sleep.”

 

Steve pressed his face into Bucky’s shirt, then grabbed at it with his hands. Bucky lifted onto an elbow, then briefly removed his hand to tug it over his head and cast it aside. He pushed his fingers back into Steve quickly and Steve relaxed, curling into his now bare chest.

 

“Go back to sleep,” Bucky rumbled softly. “It’ll be alright.”

 

He was reluctant, but he slipped a trace of Alpha tone into his voice. Steve sniffed and stilled in his arms. They’d discussed it; Steve had said he trusted Bucky to respect his wishes not to have sex at all during his heat and to only use his Alpha voice to keep Steve from letting the heat get the better of him. Still. Bucky wouldn’t be using it very much.

 

Bucky left at least two fingers in Steve at all times, just to satisfy his body’s craving to be filled, and did no more than that, despite his dick growing heavy with the scent of heat in his nose.

 

Steve fell asleep again. Bucky remained vigilant. Anytime Steve woke up during the night or well into the new morning, Bucky coaxed him back to sleep. Around noon, Bucky slipped out of the bed to wash his hands, then went downstairs for food and water. Steve was still asleep when he came back, still asleep when Bucky got back in the bed with him. The next time Steve woke, Bucky fed him before he pushed his fingers back into Steve’s wet hole. He talked Steve back to sleep, where the heat wouldn’t be able to mess with his head, and kept watch.

 

The rest of the day was the same. In the new morning, Steve wasn’t over-producing slick anymore, but he was shaking uncontrollably. Bucky took the blankets off their bed and carried him and them down the stairs to the nest in the living room they’d built Sunday, setting him in the middle of it to wait for the Romanoff sisters to arrive. Steve was still shivering, so Bucky held him in his lap and sweet-talked gently in his ear.

 

Around ten o’clock, there was a knock at the door. Bucky reminded Steve it was just the sisters with the little ones before getting up to answer it.

 

Anya gave him a tight smile, Kirochka in her arms, and simply pushed past him. Inessa and Dina followed behind her, each of them holding a toddler or infant in their arms or by the hand. Bucky walked them into the living room, then got into the nest behind Steve and pulled him into his chest to hide his nose in his neck. Anya and Dina and Inessa all smelled pungent to him, sickly sweet floral scents that were already giving him a headache, but after he stuck his nose in Steve’s neck, he couldn’t smell them as much anymore.

 

“Here we are,” Dina said, setting her son Alianeshka into the piles of blankets and pillows.

 

Bucky watched the adults carefully from the safety of Steve’s neck, but the children weren’t a threat. Alianeshka and Tomek crawled over like they knew what the big nest meant and huddled by Steve’s legs, yawning. Inessa placed Polina by Bucky’s knee and Anya handed Kirochka, the youngest, to Steve directly.

 

“We bring story, Stepushka,” Dina told them, sitting down on a chair rather than in the nest. Bucky tucked his face more securely into Steve’s neck.

 

“Fairytale,” Anya added.

 

“Are there dragons?” Steve asked raspily.

 

Bucky nuzzled his neck lightly and some of the tension in Steve’s body faded. Steve cuddled Kirochka closer, too. Polina crawled over Bucky’s leg to rest between Steve’s knees, curling up into a ball and sticking her thumb in her mouth.

 

“There is dragon,” Inessa promised.

 

“Is new story,” Dina added, taking out a battered paperback from her heavy bag. Anya and Inessa sat on the sofa, pushed out of the way of the nest, and both took out knitting projects. “Children like, is _Hobbit._ ”

 

“Hobbit?” Steve repeated in a mumble.

 

“Hobbit!” Dina agreed. She opened the book and cleared her throat. “ _In a hole in the ground there lived a hobbit._ ”

 

Bucky settled his face into Steve’s neck, shutting his eyes as Dina read.

 

“ _Not a nasty, dirty, wet hole, filled with the ends of worms and an oozy smell, nor yet a dry, bare, sandy hole with nothing in it to sit down on or to eat; it was a hobbit-hole, and that means comfort.”_

 

The sisters stayed until sunset. Dina read through almost the first third of the book, and had Bucky not been rutting, he might have enjoyed it. Anya and Inessa took care of bringing food and water to the nest so Bucky didn’t have to get up and the little ones cuddling Steve were all lulled into sleep by his heat-scent. Bucky might have slept if the little ones had been his own, but they belonged to the adults still in the room, so he was kept up until they left.

 

Anya promised to lock up on their way out, and Bucky and Steve simply slept in the nest. Steve was exhausted from the strain of not giving into his heat and Bucky was exhausted from being on edge watching the Omegas that were not his. They curled up in the piles of blankets and pillows, and when Steve began to whimper again, Bucky just used his Alpha voice to coax him into sleep.

 

They were woken the next morning by the sisters knocking at the door. Bucky let them in, returned to the nest and curled around Steve’s back, and the little ones were dropped one by one into Steve’s lap to cuddle him and suppress the heat’s need for knotting with more maternal urges.

 

Bucky saw the benefit of doing this for an Omega whose Alpha was absent for any reason, but, at least while he was rutting, he would have rathered the sisters drop off their kids and go. But he saw why they wouldn’t do that, the kids were really too little for that when neither he nor Steve could mind properly them in their states.

 

Maybe in a few years, if Steve didn’t want to go back on suppressants when they’d had enough babies, they could do this with their own children.

 

Bucky could dream.

 

It took four days for Steve’s heat to finally give up. Still, on that last day, Dina and Inessa and Anya hung around so Dina could finish reading _The Hobbit_ to them. Steve drifted in and out of wakefulness and again, when the sisters and the little ones left, Bucky didn’t bother carrying Steve upstairs. On the fifth morning, Steve woke up to blink blearily in Bucky’s direction. Bucky reached out and brushed at his hair. Steve wound his arms around Bucky’s neck and held on tightly.

 

“Thank you,” he mumbled.

 

Bucky locked his arms around Steve. “Of course, babydoll.”

 

It was the first time he’d called Steve that since they’d buried Gabriel. Steve let out a weak laugh, then began to cry. Bucky started kissing his hair over and over while he did.

 

At sunset, Steve and Bucky made their way out to the oak tree in the backyard. Bucky had bought a stone for the grave months back, just the name and date. Steve laid a bunch of paper daisies on the small stone and Bucky held him, his cheek smushed against Steve’s hair. It wasn’t quite as thin as it had been a few weeks back. Bucky was so glad.

 

“I think we should try again in the fall,” Steve said quietly.

 

Bucky kissed his hair. “Okay,” he answered gently.

 

They stood there for a long time, until the sun had set properly and it began to get cold. Bucky gently ushered Steve inside, back into the nest they had yet to put away, and Steve curled into him to fall asleep. Bucky slept evenly for the first time since the end of January.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _i'll see you next week_


	20. Eleven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _the boys have a cuteness moment_

**_[september 24th, 1946]_ **

 

Steve bit the inside of his lip, looking at the sheet of paper Doc had handed him.

 

“You’re sure?” he asked.

 

“I could have them run it again,” Doc answered. “But it will come back same as this and last one.”

 

“But –” Steve started. He covered his mouth with a hand. “It’s not the season for it.”

 

Doc shrugged. “Does not have to be.”

 

Steve held the positive pregnancy test results a little closer to him. “I guess not,” he mumbled.

 

Doc stepped closer and set a hand on his shoulder. “We will watch more closely this time,” he said. “Be vigilant. You did everything right last time, so it may have been simply that your body was surprised. You go so long without it, then you are, sometimes it takes the body off guard.”

 

Steve nodded. It wasn’t his fault. He believed that now.

 

Doc patted his shoulder. “Bucky will be happy?”

 

“Oh, thrilled,” Steve answered, giving Doc a weak smile. “We – We were going to try again anyway, this is just… A little sooner than we planned.”

 

“Happens sometimes,” Doc told him. Steve thought that people had been telling him that the whole year. “Remember, rest, no excitement, no stress, and no smoking, no drinking!” Doc said firmly, then shook his head. “I swear, medicine has been taken over by corporates; alcohol and tobacco are bad for child, bad, bad, bad!”

 

“No smoking or drinking,” Steve agreed easily. “Doc…”

 

“Hmm?”

 

Steve bit his lip again, glancing up once before looking at the paper. “It wasn’t because… Because I had to take your serum?”

 

“No,” Doc answered. “I see no reason why my serum would cause your pregnancy to fail. If anything, would make you more fertile.”

 

Doc raised his eyebrows at Steve. “Perhaps why it is out of the season.”

 

Steve laughed lightly. “Maybe,” he agreed. He folded the paper in half carefully, then in quarters. He stuck it in the pocket of his office skirt and exhaled. “I can stay until you find a temp?”

 

Doc hummed. “No more than end of the week,” he said eventually. “We can manage after until I find a relief for you.”

 

“Thank you,” Steve said, feeling relieved.

 

He was probably going to turn himself into an invalid as the days wore on, out of anxiety if nothing else. Then again, anxiety couldn’t be good for his baby. His hands came to rest on his stomach and he stared at the ground, biting his lip.

 

“Do not worry,” Doc told him, squeezing his shoulder. “These things happen all the time. Why, I read a study just the other day reporting that many Omegas miscarry their first and then go on to have ten healthy children.”

 

“Oh, god, not ten,” Steve said quickly. “We’re going to have four.”

 

Doc shrugged. “A good number. And if you do not want to take medicine, I have been licensed to perform vasectomies.”

 

Doc grinned and made a snipping motion with his fingers. Steve genuinely laughed.

 

“That might be something we look at in the future,” he said. Then he hugged the doctor. “Thanks for all you’ve done for us.”

 

“It is my pleasure,” Doc assured him, then pushed him back by the shoulders and smiled at him. “I am all too happy to help the people responsible for the end of Johann Schmidt.”

 

Steve smiled weakly. “Believe me, it was a relief for us, too.”

 

Doc gave him a light shake. “Now, I heard your Alpha’s truck a minute ago and he will be worrying after you soon. Go on!”

 

“Right,” Steve said, stepping back. He brushed a hand over his hair, feeling suddenly nervous. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Doc.”

 

“Our first appointment is not until nine, yes?” Doc asked.

 

“Nine-fifteen,” Steve said, nodding.

 

“You don’t come in until nine,” Doc told him. “Get plenty of sleep, Steven.”

 

“Got it,” Steve answered. He glanced over his shoulder at a knock and his heart skipped a beat. “Right,” he muttered. He waved to Doc and headed into the lobby of the office.

 

Bucky was peering through the frosted glass on the front door. He seemed to spot Steve and he waved. Steve picked up his handbag from the front desk, then checked his pockets for keys and was reminded that the test results were in his pocket. He blew out his breath, then turned the deadbolt on the front door and opened it.

 

“Hey, doll,” Bucky greeted him with a smile.

 

Steve blinked at him, suddenly overtaken with how the hell he was going to tell him.

 

“You okay?” Bucky asked, his smile fading into a frown.

 

“I’m pregnant,” Steve blurted.

 

Bucky blinked. Steve felt color rising to his cheeks. That took care of one thing.

 

“You’re –?” Bucky said.

 

Steve reached into his pocket, pulling out the paper. He unfolded it and showed it to Bucky. Bucky took it and Steve watched it shake in his hands. Bucky reached out, still looking at the paper, then groped through the air until his hand touched Steve’s shoulder.

 

“Are you –?” Steve started. He wrung his hands in front of him, nervous again. “Buck?”

 

“You’re pregnant,” Bucky whispered. He looked up, a smile curling his lips. “You’re pregnant,” he said again, as though in awe.

 

Steve let out all the breath in his lungs. He nodded.

 

Bucky laughed and tugged him in. Steve threw his arms around Bucky’s neck and Bucky lifted him off his feet, his hands squeezing Steve’s back.

 

“We’re gonna be parents,” Bucky whispered into Steve’s ear.

 

“Yeah,” Steve mumbled into the skin of Bucky’s neck. “We’re gonna be parents, God willing.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _happy valentine's day, everyone!_


	21. Twelve

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _hump day! and y'all know what that means._

**_[january 9th, 1947]_ **

 

Bucky swiped a hand over his face, feeling exhausted.

 

Next to him, Pietro sniggered. “You’ve got soot all over your face,” he chuckled.

 

Bucky gave the kid a good-natured shove to the arm. “Shuddup and respect your elders,” he told him, then snatched the mostly clean rag out of his back pocket and wiped his face with it.

 

Pietro laughed harder. Bucky picked him up by the back of his overalls and gave him a shake before dropping him. Pietro kept laughing.

 

“Shuddup!” Bucky said, getting back on his knees to give the knuts on the tire they’d just changed one last tighten. “Alright!” he called to the driver of the car as he got up and wiped his hands on the rag. “You’re all good, sir!”

 

“Oh, thank goodness,” the client sighed. “How much do I owe you?”

 

“Fifteen dollars,” Bucky said. “And you ought’a bring ‘er in for a tune-up soon, those brake shoes look kinda wimpy. Might be why you’re blowin’ tires so quick.”

 

“I’ll be sure to do that,” the client answered, pressing two notes into his hand. Bucky glanced at them before shoving them into a pocket of his coat. “Thank you very much, Mr. Romanoff.”

 

“Oh, I’m not a Romanoff,” Bucky said quickly. “Name’s Rogers.”

 

“Mr. Rogers,” the client corrected. He settled back in the seat of his car, then held out an old-fashioned crank handle. “Would you mind turning the crank?”

 

“No problem,” Bucky replied, already walking forward.

 

The car was a certainly a more classic model, something Bucky wished he could drive but would never dream of actually blowing the money on. He fitted the crank and on the driver’s cue, gave it a few turns. The engine began purring and Bucky took the crank back out, walking around to give it back.

 

“Have a good day, sir. Happy New Year.”

 

“Happy New Year, Mr. Rogers,” the client returned, then pulled off.

 

Bucky blew out his breath and looked at Pietro. “You’re an _awful_ apprentice,” he said.

 

“I’m fairly certain I only got the position due to favoritism,” Pietro agreed.

 

Bucky clapped him on the shoulder and gave him a shake. “Well, you can put all the tools away.”

 

“Why?” Pietro whined.

 

“Because I’m an old man, like you like to remind me,” Bucky said, cuffing him around the ears gently. “Hop to it, kiddo.”

 

Pietro pouted, but set about collecting their tools. Bucky lifted his massive toolbox into the bed of his truck, which was by then painted with the logo of Romanoff & Sons, because Pietro had tiny arms and Bucky worried that if the fifteen-year-old tried to pick it up, he might snap in half. When they were ready, Pietro got into the passenger seat and Bucky got into the driver’s, put the car in gear and headed back to the garage.

 

There were a couple of guys standing around talking to Alian when they returned. Bucky hefted his toolbox from the truck bed and set it on his shoulder to carry it inside, not very concerned by either of the strangers chatting with Alian. Pietro followed him, carrying their stool and other bits and bobs, and Bucky dropped his toolbox with a grunt in his corner of the garage.

 

“Yasha!” Alian called to him. “Come meet customers, they have car that brakes are funky.”

 

 _Funky_ was Alian’s new favorite word; he’d been using it at any opportunity in the past few weeks. Frankly, the rest of the garage was sick of _funky._ Anyway, Bucky headed over as the two strangers turned to face him. Bucky stopped in his tracks, his breath catching in his throat.

 

“Cap?” Dum Dum Dugan said confusedly.

 

“Pardon my friend,” Jacques Dernier added quickly, hitting Dum Dum in the arm, “you look very much like a friend of ours –”

 

“Cap!” Dum Dum yelled, cutting Dernier off, running at him. Bucky grunted as Dum Dum collided with him and actually tried to lift him off his feet. “You’re alive!” Dum Dum shouted.

 

Bucky shoved him off and slapped a hand over Dum Dum’s mouth, throwing him against the wall.

 

“For _once_ in your God damned miserable life, Dugan,” Bucky snarled, “shut your _fucking_ mouth!”

 

Dum Dum blinked at him.

 

“Who else knows I’m here?” Bucky demanded. Dum Dum kept blinking and Bucky shook him. “Who?!”

 

“Is that really you, mon capitaine?” Dernier asked, nearing.

 

“Quiet!” Bucky snapped. Then turned to throw an accusatory finger in Dernier’s face, who quickly backed up. “How’d you find me?”

 

Dum Dum mumbled something behind Bucky’s hand. Bucky reluctantly removed it, then instead shoved his forearm into Dum Dum’s throat.

 

“Yasha,” Alian started.

 

“Who knows?” Bucky snapped at Dum Dum, ignoring Alian.

 

“No one,” Dum Dum croaked. “We didn’t know you were alive! We thought you were dead!”

 

“We came here because they speak English here,” Dernier explained.

 

“You’re a native Frenchman, Dernier, why the hell do you need a mechanic that speaks English?” Bucky snapped.

 

“Canadian French is not the same!” Dernier tried to insist. “I say something to Canadian Frenchman that apparently is offensive here.”

 

Bucky squinted at him. Dernier gave a shrug. Grigory neared and touched Bucky’s shoulders.

 

“Perhaps you can explain situation?” Grigory requested.

 

Bucky glanced at Dum Dum, then released him. Dum Dum fell back against the wall, wheezing.

 

“No one knows I’m here?” Bucky asked Dernier.

 

“No,” Dernier answered, his eyes wide.

 

“What the _fuck,_ Cap?” Dum Dum spat out.

 

Bucky took a step back, his breath coming in gasps, and shook his head to clear it. Dum Dum pushed off the wall, a hand pressed to his throat.

 

“What the fuck!” he spat again. “I thought we were friends, brothers!”

 

“I’m sorry,” Bucky said quickly, “I had to know who else knew –”

 

“Why the fuck would it matter?” Dum Dum retorted. “How are you alive! Why are you out here, of all places?”

 

“I live here,” Bucky said simply.

 

“Why?” Dum Dum demanded.

 

Bucky glanced around. “I can’t explain here,” he said. “The more people know – I can’t say.”

 

“Why the fuck not?” Dum Dum snarled.

 

“Because!” Bucky snapped back. He turned to Alian. “Do you still need me? I gotta get home.”

 

“Go,” Alian answered immediately.

 

Bucky handed him the fifteen dollars from the tire changing job, then clapped him on the shoulder and headed out. He heard running footsteps, then Dum Dum cut in front of him.

 

“You can’t just walk away!” Dum Dum insisted.

 

“What are _you_ doing here?” Bucky demanded instead, rattled still by their presence and the implications that had.

 

“The whole team’s here,” Dum Dum said. Bucky felt his face go white. “We’re mourning _you!_ ”

 

Bucky glanced at Dernier, then looked back at Dum Dum.

 

“We meet every year,” Dernier said softly. “Someplace new, somewhere you would have wanted to visit. We agreed to when you…”

 

“What the hell happened?” Dum Dum asked.

 

Bucky glanced over his shoulder, at Alian and Grigory speaking in low tones with Pietro. Pa Romanoff was in the office still, spent most days there. Bucky was going to suggest Steve come work for Romanoff after the baby was born instead of at the doctor’s office, so Romanoff could actually make do on his threats to retire but still keep the business in the family. There wasn’t any risk of sick patients giving something to Steve, and the office was walled off so it didn’t get noisy in there. Steve could bring the baby with him, he could still work and not have to worry about a nanny.

 

“How are you alive?” Dum Dum asked him again.

 

“I faked my death,” Bucky said simply. He looked back, then shook his head and headed for his truck. “I can’t say anything here.”

 

“Why?” Dum Dum demanded.

 

Bucky jerked around hastily, holding out a hand. “As far as you two, are concerned, I’m still dead.”

 

“What?” Dum Dum burst out.

 

“You can’t tell anybody you saw me,” Bucky insisted.

 

“Why not?” Dum Dum demanded again.

 

“There’s things at stake,” Bucky said, looking around nervously. “You don’t understand.”

 

“Then _make_ us!” Dum Dum said, grabbing Bucky’s shoulders. “Cap, you – You can’t expect us not to tell the other guys!”

 

“You can’t!” Bucky repeated. He grabbed Dum Dum’s shoulders in return, giving him a rough shake. “There are bigger things at risk, Dugan!” he hissed. “You can’t tell anyone!”

 

“Like what?” Dum Dum countered.

 

“Like a child,” Dernier said abruptly. Bucky looked at him and Dernier neared, his face speculative. “Or a woman.”

 

“Barnes wouldn’t touch another Omega, he’s hung up on his childhood sweetheart,” Dum Dum snapped.

 

Bucky had an awful poker face. He looked at the ground, his ears hot.

 

“Cap?” Dum Dum questioned.

 

“A woman with child,” Dernier suggested.

 

“No,” Bucky said, glancing around. “Look,” he said, sighing, “it’s a long story –”

 

“You swore you’d never love anybody but your boy!” Dum Dum cut him off.

 

“I haven’t!” Bucky snapped.

 

Dum Dum’s eyebrows shot up. “What happened to he’s better off without you?”

 

“Things didn’t happen the way I thought they did,” Bucky answered. “We – I found him, but –”

 

“Who is in danger?” Dernier asked.

 

“All of us,” Bucky muttered, looking at his feet. He exhaled sharply. “Look, I can’t tell you. But – I’ll ask if – If Steve would be okay with it and maybe –”

 

“All of who?” Dum Dum asked. He punched Bucky in the arm and Bucky winced, staggering back. “You knocked him up!” Dum Dum hissed gleefully. “Already or still got the bun in the oven?”

 

“Expecting,” Bucky muttered.

 

Dum Dum whooped and hugged him. Bucky broke into a smile; he’d forgotten how easily Dum Dum’s mirth could come, or how contagious it was.

 

“Congratulations!” Dum Dum said. “Can we meet him?”

 

Bucky hesitated. “I’ll ask,” he said.

 

Dum Dum whooped again. “The whole team?”

 

“I’ll ask,” Bucky repeated. Dum Dum let out a laugh and punched the air. “But! You still can’t say anything. We gotta talk about it.”

 

“We’re at a hotel near here,” Dum Dum said. “Hang on –”

 

He tugged a card out of his wallet. Bucky looked at it, at the address and telephone number, then sighed.

 

“I can’t make any promises,” he said, looking up. “I’ll call you tomorrow night if he says it’s okay. But you gotta give me your word that if I don’t call –”

 

“We say nothing,” Dernier agreed.

 

Dum Dum’s face fell, but he nodded.

 

“It’s gonna be hard,” Dum Dum told him, “but… You’re right. Bigger things at stake.”

 

“Who are you running from?” Dernier questioned.

 

Bucky sighed again. “I can’t tell you,” he said. “If it’s alright, we’ll explain tomorrow.”

 

Dum Dum nodded. He stuck out his hand and Bucky gave it a firm shake, only for Dum Dum to yank him into a hug.

 

“You take care of yourself,” Dum Dum told him, letting go and slapping him on the arm. “And your boy.”

 

“And your _petit enfant,_ ” Dernier added.

 

Bucky nodded, shoving the card into his pocket.

 

“I’m glad you’re not dead, Cap,” Dum Dum said with abrupt emotion.

 

Bucky clapped him on the shoulder, shaking him. Then he let go and got in his truck, backing up and pulling away. He watched Dernier and Dum Dum in his rear view mirror for a minute, then exhaled heavily.

 

He parked in the driveway, then let his forehead hit the steering wheel for a second before he got out. Bucky walked up to the front door, pushed it open, and was met by the smell of fresh bread.

 

“Steve!” he called, dropping his keys onto a little table by the door.

 

“Kitchen!” Steve answered.

 

Bucky headed straight in, following his nose, and found Steve standing by the stove, stirring a pot and holding the small of his back. Bucky went straight for him, putting his hands on Steve’s bump and sticking his nose into his neck to breathe deeply the soft, sweet scent of his pregnant mate.

 

“Ew, you’re gross,” Steve complained, elbowing him in the solar plexus. Bucky grunted dramatically and bent double but Steve kept stirring the pot on the stove. “Go wash up before you stick your head in my neck again.”

 

“I love you,” Bucky answered, pecking his cheek.

 

Steve waved him away. “Yeah, yeah, I love you, too, jerk.”

 

Bucky grinned to himself. He left the kitchen, took off his boots and kicked them under the mud bench, then headed up to the laundry room and left his nasty clothes on the floor to be dealt with later. He took the stairs up to the third floor and headed into his and Steve’s bathroom, getting a cloth wet in the sink and giving himself a quick bird bath. Then he changed into fresh clothes and headed back downstairs, re-entering the kitchen in time to see Steve setting bowls on the table.

 

“Is that goulash?” Bucky asked, ducking to give the bowl at his place a sniff.

 

“It is,” Steve answered. “You want tea or coffee?”

 

“Tea,” Bucky said, then walked around the table and grabbed Steve’s arm, turning him around and kissing him.

 

Steve hummed against his lips, relaxing into his arms, and Bucky ducked his head to put it in Steve’s neck again, drinking in his scent. For a moment, he just stood there, soaking up the soft sugar in Steve’s scent.

 

“What’s eating you?” Steve asked softly.

 

Bucky exhaled heavily again. He straightened up. “Apparently, every time this year, my old squad goes to places they think I would have wanted to visit.”

 

Steve frowned. “Okay?”

 

Bucky touched Steve’s cheek, then brushed through his hair, enjoying its softness now that Steve’s health had lifted.

 

“They’re here,” Bucky said. “Dum Dum and Dernier saw me at the garage, they recognized me.”  


Steve drew in a slow breath, his eyebrows furrowed and his lips shut, pursed a little. “Okay,” he repeated.

 

“I told them not to tell anyone,” Bucky went on. “But… They want to, they wanna tell the rest of the team. They wanna meet you.”

 

“Me?” Steve asked, his frown growing.

 

Bucky nodded. He ducked his head again, rubbing his nose against Steve’s neck. “I might’ve… Talked about you. A lot. During the war.”

 

Steve’s hands came to rest on his shoulders. “You did?”

 

“Yeah,” Bucky mumbled. “They might’ve banned me from drinking ‘cause I’d get sad and just talk about how much I missed you.”

 

“We weren’t even…” Steve started.

 

“I still missed you,” Bucky said, lifting his head. He framed Steve’s face in his hands, smiling sadly at him. “I missed you every day after my family moved away. I thought that might kill me before the Nazis did, sometimes.”

 

Steve blinked. Then he lifted onto his toes and crashed their lips together, his hands going to fist in Bucky’s hair. Bucky gripped his waist, holding onto him tightly, until Steve broke the kiss and dropped back onto his heels.

 

“I missed you, too,” Steve murmured. “I kept that jacket – I wore it during my nesting periods, even after it didn’t smell like you anymore.”

 

Bucky pressed their foreheads together. “We were somethin’, huh?” he said softly.

 

Steve lifted up for another kiss. “Somethin’,” he agreed.

 

Bucky held him for a minute longer. Steve’s eyes fell shut and he leaned against Bucky, putting his head on his shoulder. Bucky let his arms lock behind Steve and rested his face in Steve’s hair, breathing deeply his subtle scent.

 

“So, what’s the problem?” Steve asked.

 

“Huh?” Bucky answered.

 

Steve leaned back, looking up at him. “Your team. Why can’t they say anything?”

 

Bucky blinked at him. “I told them I had to talk to you first.”

 

Steve blinked back. “Oh,” he said. “You – Oh.”

 

“Well, it’s your cover that got blown,” Bucky said nervously.

 

“Yeah, I guess,” Steve muttered. He looked away, then shook his head, looking back up. “Do you trust them?”

 

“Yes,” Bucky answered.

 

“Then it shouldn’t be a problem,” Steve said. “They can know you’re alive and keep quiet.”

 

“That’s it?” Bucky said, drawing his brows together.

 

Steve shrugged. “That’s it.”

 

Bucky kissed him again. “Then, I guess I’d better call ‘em.”

 

“Invite them to dinner,” Steve said. “Better get it over with.”

 

Steve pulled away from him, going to put the kettle on the stove for tea. Bucky blinked for a second, then drew the card out of his pocket and stared at it before heading to the phone.

 

He called the hotel and asked for Timothy Dugan. He waited for a second, then he was put through.

 

_“Dugan.”_

 

“It’s Cap,” Bucky said.

 

 _“Hey!”_ Dum Dum gasped. Then, quieter: _“I thought you’d call tomorrow?”_

 

“Yeah, well, my Omega didn’t seem to have much issue with youse knowin’,” Bucky answered. “In fact, you’re invited to dinner. All of you, tonight. Goulash and soda bread, I think.”

 

 _“I’ll get the boys off their asses!”_ Dum Dum said happily. _“Where d’ya live?”_

 

Bucky gave him their address, then Dum Dum promised to be there in half an hour. Bucky hung up and headed back into the kitchen.

 

“Well?” Steve asked.

 

“They’ll be here,” Bucky said. “Half an hour.”

 

Steve nodded, holding his hands in front of him. Bucky walked up to the stove and turned the fire back on under the goulash, then set it to low. He cleared the bowls, emptying them back into the pot, since they wouldn’t be eating right away. He turned around then and put his hands on Steve’s shoulders, pushing, and guided him into a chair.

 

“They like you,” Bucky told Steve, starting to massage Steve’s shoulders. “They’ll love you.”

 

Steve let out a little sigh and let out tension from his body as Bucky dug his thumbs into his tense muscles.

 

“Do we have to explain everything?” he muttered.

 

“No,” Bucky said quickly. “We can be vague.”

 

Steve nodded. Bucky bent and kissed the back of his neck, then slid his arms around Steve’s neck and pushed his feet back, leaning on the chair to set his face in Steve’s neck.

 

“I love you,” he murmured.

 

Steve reached up and covered Bucky’s hands with his own. “I love you, too.”

 

Bucky sank to his knees, then shuffled around to Steve’s side and pulled out his chair enough to press his face against the rounded bump that was Steve’s belly.

 

“We love you, baby,” Bucky whispered. “Papa loves you. Mama loves you.”

 

Steve set a hand in Bucky’s hair, gently petting him. Bucky stayed there, on his knees with his head tucked against Steve’s bump, until someone knocked on the door.

 

“I’ll get it,” Steve told him kindly as Bucky jumped to his feet. “Get yourself a beer, Barnes,” Steve added, pushing to his feet, “your nerves are freaking out the baby.”

 

“Right,” Bucky said.

 

Steve pulled him down by his collar to peck his lips. Bucky watched him go, then opened the fridge and pulled out a bottle of beer like he’d been ordered. He twisted off the cap with his bare hand, then took a long gulp. He heard the knocking again, then Steve calling that he was coming, he could only move so fast, and the door opened.

 

Bucky lingered near the kitchen doorway, listening.

 

“Hi,” he heard Steve say.

 

“Hello!” Dum Dum’s voice. “You gotta be Stevie.”

 

“Guess I am,” Steve answered as Bucky smiled a little. “Come in, food’s ready to eat and I’m starving.”

 

Bucky heard a group shuffling inside and Steve’s slow footsteps back into the kitchen.

 

“What are we doing here?” Bucky heard Gabe whispering.

 

Steve re-entered the kitchen. Bucky held out his arm and Steve went to him, tucking into his side. Dum Dum walked into the kitchen and gave a wide grin, followed by Dernier, then the rest of the team.

 

Morita was right behind Dernier and saw Bucky first. He gave a shrill scream and stopped in his tracks. Gabe walked into him, almost knocked him over, then saw Bucky and slapped a hand over his mouth, like he was muffling his own scream. Falsworth and Pinkie both walked into Gabe’s back and Junior walked into them, and Happy Sam peered over everybody’s heads to get a look into the kitchen.

 

“Guess who’s not dead,” Dum Dum said proudly.

 

“Really?” Bucky said disbelievingly, gesturing with his beer. “You didn’t explain?”

 

“They wouldn’t’ve believed me if I told them!” Dum Dum insisted.

 

Morita stumbled forward, his hands outstretched as though he were approaching a ghost. Bucky leaned back, but Morita touched his face with awe.

 

“You’re not dead,” Morita said dumbly.

 

“No, get off,” Bucky answered, pushing him back.

 

“I’ll be damned,” Gabe whispered.

 

Junior let out a whoop and shoved both Falsworth and Gabe out of the way to run forward and slam Bucky with a hug. Bucky got the wind knocked out of his lungs and sloshed his beer, staggering backwards and just barely avoiding hitting the hot stove.

 

“Hey, hey, that floor just got mopped!” Steve called, swooping in and snatching Bucky’s beer from him. Then he apparently got a whiff of it because he turned green and shoved it into Morita’s chest. Bucky disentangled himself from Junior and hurried to put an arm around Steve, guiding him into a chair.

 

“Easy now,” Bucky said softly, “you’re alright.”

 

Steve waved a hand, then covered his mouth. “I’m good,” he said from behind his hand.

 

Bucky turned around and filled a glass with water, then set it in front of Steve. Steve took it and gulped half of it at once.

 

Morita set the beer on the table. “Can we tackle him now?” he asked Steve politely.

 

“Turn the fire off,” Steve answered, waving to the stove.

 

Morita bowed, pushed between Junior and Bucky, and switched the fire off on the stove. Then he whooped and jumped Bucky. Junior did, too, then Pinkie, Gabe, and Happy Sam ran in and Happy Sam lifted Bucky, Junior, and Morita off their feet. Gabe and Pinkie just hugged their middles.

 

“Hey!” Bucky wheezed from the center of the group hug. “Don’t make my fella a widow!”

 

“You’re not dead!” Junior wheezed, too.

 

“You’re choking us!” Morita added hoarsely.

 

Happy Sam put them down. Bucky sucked in a strong breath.

 

“You’re not dead!” Junior repeated, more confidently.

 

“No, I’m not dead,” Bucky muttered. He pushed past them to stand behind Steve, putting a hand on his shoulder.

 

“Why aren’t you dead?” Falsworth asked with a frown.

 

“What, ain’t you gonna hug me, too?” Bucky countered.

 

“I’ll pass,” Falsworth said.

 

Dum Dum shoved him forward. “Your captain shows up from the dead and you ain’t gonna hug ‘im!”

 

“Hug him!” Junior called.

 

“Don’t choke me,” Bucky warned as Falsworth rolled his eyes and approached.

 

“No, he doesn’t like that,” Steve commented.

 

Bucky jumped and looked at Steve with red ears. Steve laughed, reaching up to pat his arm. Falsworth gave Bucky a quick hug, then backed off.

 

“Again, why aren’t you dead?” he asked.

 

“Uh,” Bucky started.

 

“He wasn’t ever dead to begin with,” Steve said simply. “It was an act.”

 

“That’s why your body was never found!” Junior gasped. “Because you still had it!”

 

“Uh,” Bucky said, blinking at Junior. “Yes. Yes, I still had it.”

 

“But _why?_ ” Falsworth demanded.

 

Gabe walked up to him and set a hand on his shoulder. “Obviously there’s a good reason,” Gabe says. He looked at Bucky, his eyebrows raised. “Right?”

 

Bucky nodded. His hands find Steve’s shoulders and he squeezes gently.

 

“Why don’t you start at the beginning?” Gabe suggested.

 

“Why don’t we talk about it while we eat?” Steve added. Bucky glanced down at him and Steve shrugged. “Your kid is hungry, don’t look at me.”

 

Bucky grinned and ducked to kiss his cheek. “I gotcha,” he promised, heading for the stove. “Everybody sit down and prepare to eat the best damn goulash in the country!”

 

“I don’t think any of us have ever eaten goulash,” Morita admitted as the team found seats.

 

Bucky started filling bowls, setting them on the table. He found the soda bread and put it on the table with a knife and a cutting board, then took Steve’s glass and re-filled it with water before sitting down at the table. Steve was at the head of the table, Bucky to his right, Junior on his left.

 

“We gotta say grace!” Steve called as Dum Dum and Happy Sam both started to tuck in.

 

Dum Dum put down his spoon and Happy Sam set his hands in his lap, a mollified look on his face. They bowed their heads and Bucky picked up Steve’s hand.

 

“O Christ, our Lord,” Steve recited, “bless this food, drink, and the fellowship of Thy servants, for Thou art holy always, now and ever and unto ages. Amen.”

 

“Amen,” Bucky and the Howlies answered.

 

“G’ahead,” Steve called.

 

The team happily tucked in. Bucky started cutting up the soda bread, passing it out, and Steve took the end piece to start tearing it up and dunking it in his goulash.

 

“So, story?” Morita asked, his mouth full.

 

“Right,” Bucky said. He shoveled goulash into his mouth, chewed and swallowed, then took a swig of his beer to wash it down.

 

“Aw, shit,” Steve muttered.

 

“What?” Bucky said, startled.

 

“Now you’re gonna taste like beer,” Steve complained.

 

Bucky gawked at him. “You told me to drink it!” he answered defensively.

 

“Well, you listened!” Steve countered.

 

Bucky gave him a confused look. Steve reached over and flicked his forehead.

 

“Ow!” Bucky said, clapping a hand to his forehead.

 

“Serves you right for listening to me,” Steve said firmly.

 

“Stevie,” Bucky whined.

 

“Ohmygod,” Morita sniggered.

 

“How is this worse than hearing him moping about missing the boy?” Falsworth demanded of the table at large.

 

“I don’t know, but I love it,” Morita laughed.

 

“I wanna hear more about how he moped,” Steve announced.

 

Bucky scowled at his goulash while his team laughed. “I didn’t _mope,_ ” he muttered to his bowl.

 

“He was an awful drunk!” Dum Dum called down the table. “He’d get so damn morose, he could depress a clown!”

 

“Aw,” Steve said, reaching over and pinching Bucky’s cheek. “You’re so cute.”

 

Bucky snapped his teeth at Steve’s fingers. Steve just laughed at him.

 

“We confiscated his hip flask,” Pinkie announced. “And any time we headed for a bar, we told the staff he was an alcoholic and to only ever serve him pop.”

 

Steve looked at Bucky with barely contained mirth.

 

“You’d think an Omega’d be glad their Alpha missed ‘em still after so much time,” Bucky said dryly.

 

“Oh, I am,” Steve answered, giving his shoulder a shove. “It’s just funny at the same time.”

 

Bucky rolled his eyes. “Are you done embarrassing me?”

 

“One time!” Dum Dum called out. “He got so drunk, he started goin’ off about how cute your teeth were!”

 

“My _teeth?_ ” Steve echoed disbelievingly.

 

“I don’t remember this,” Bucky claimed.

 

“Or maybe it was your feet,” Dum Dum mused.

 

“You have very adorable feet,” Bucky added.

 

Steve laughed again. “Of course you’d find a way to be in love with my feet.”

 

“How did you two find each other?” Happy Sam asked.

 

“Yes, and how are you not dead?” Falsworth demanded yet again.

 

“Well,” Steve said, “the short version is I was a spy and it was my plan to have a sniper take Hitler out at the docks.”

 

Bucky simply nodded. His team gawked.

 

“My cover got blown,” Steve added. “So Bucky faked his death so we could escape.”

 

“Pretty much,” Bucky agreed.

 

Bucky cast a glance down at his men, and it seemed they were all looking at Steve, every one of them frowning. Junior looked away first, then Morita, then Falsworth and Pinkie exchanged glances and Dum Dum’s gaze slipped to the table as his mouth fell open under his walrus mustache.

 

“The spy who came up with the idea of killing Hitler on arrival was Roger Smith,” Gabe said abruptly.

 

Bucky jerked his gaze to him. Steve put down his bread.

 

“Roger Smith was a –” Gabe started. He didn’t finish, looking uncomfortable.

 

“Holy shit,” Dum Dum whispered, covering his hands with his mouth. “Holy shit.”

 

There was silence, then. Bucky flicked his gaze towards Steve, then looked back down the table where his team were all looking at Steve with wide eyes and open mouths.

 

“How do you know?” Bucky asked.

 

“We’ve seen the file,” Gabe explained, then gestured around. “We’ve all seen it.”

 

Bucky looked at Steve, but Steve was looking down at his hands folded on the table.

 

“Roger Smith was in the employ of Johann Schmidt,” Pinkie spoke up.

 

Bucky reached out and took Steve’s hand, squeezing it.

 

“Rogers is my maiden name,” Steve said.

 

“They figured it was a false name,” Pinkie added.

 

“Oh, shit,” Dum Dum whispered again.

 

“Then you know the story,” Steve said. He cleared his throat and pushed his hair out of his face, still looking at the table. “I – I’m not proud of it –”

 

Steve stood up abruptly. “Excuse me,” he muttered, then fled the kitchen.

 

Bucky jumped up immediately and chased after him, leaving his men alone in the kitchen. Steve had only run so far as the sitting room; he was standing by the fireplace, one hand covering his mouth and the other resting on his stomach.

 

Bucky walked up behind him carefully, so his footsteps were audible, and set a hand on Steve’s shoulder.

 

“Angel?” he asked in a soft voice.

 

“I’m fine,” Steve said, glancing briefly back at him.

 

Bucky stepped closer and slid his hand around Steve’s shoulders to hug him gently. “Do you want me to tell them to go?” he asked gently.

 

“No,” Steve said. He shook his head, dropping his other hand to cradle his stomach. “No point, they – they already know.”

 

Bucky slowly rubbed his hand into Steve’s shoulders, brushing his wrist against the back of Steve’s neck each time he did. “What do you need, angel?” he asked in a soft voice.

 

Steve exhaled, looking down. He reached out and picked up Bucky’s other hand, placing it over his stomach before covering it with both of his. Bucky curled his arm further around his shoulders, leaving his palm over the swell of Steve’s womb. He rested his nose in Steve’s soft hair.

 

“I’m alright,” Steve whispered. “It was just a surprise.”

 

“Remember,” Bucky murmured into his hair, “you killed Hitler. You did it all.”

 

“You killed Hitler,” Steve muttered in answer.

 

“ _We_ killed him, then,” Bucky amended. He tipped his head down, looking at Steve’s worried face. “It never would have happened if it weren’t for you.”

 

Steve exhaled heavily again. “Thank you,” he said. He squeezed Bucky’s hand. “Thank you.”

 

Bucky kissed Steve’s hair. “Of course.”

 

“Okay,” Steve breathed out. “I can –”

 

He broke off abruptly, looking down. Bucky was about to ask, when he felt it, too.

 

“Bucky!” Steve gasped softly.

 

Bucky was already hastening to press his palm more firmly to Steve’s belly, his mouth fallen open in awe.

 

“She’s kicking!” Steve whispered, a grin lighting up his face. He grabbed Bucky’s sleeve and shook it. “She’s kicking!”

 

“Hi!” Bucky murmured, sinking to his knees to press his face against Steve’s belly, too. He felt little thumps against his palm, then against his cheek. “Hi, baby!” Bucky said softly, grinning at Steve’s belly. “You finally decided to say somethin’, huh?”

 

“She’s kicking!” Steve just whispered again. He bounced a little where he stood and Bucky felt a harder thump against his palm.

 

“I don’t think she liked that,” Bucky said, looking up.

 

“Aw,” Steve murmured, his palms spreading over his swollen stomach. “Poor thing. Hey!”

 

“What?” Bucky asked as Steve looked at him.

 

“D’ya think they wanna feel it?” Steve asked, jerking his head towards the kitchen.

 

Bucky grinned. “Yeah,” he agreed, looking back at Steve’s stomach. “Hey, kiddo. You wanna say hi to your uncles?”

 

He felt a firm thump against his palm. Bucky sat back on his haunches.

 

“Hey, fellas!” he called. “Come feel the baby kick!”

 

Chairs scraped in the kitchen. Bucky looked back at Steve’s belly with a grin and rubbed his palm over it, feeling the thumps that was his child squirming in Steve’s womb.

 

“You think it’s a girl, huh?” Bucky asked.

 

“Yeah,” Steve said. “Mother’s intuition, I guess.”

 

Bucky pressed a kiss to Steve’s stomach, then caught sight of Junior creeping into the room. Morita and Happy Sam were behind him, their faces curious.

 

“Come feel,” Bucky encouraged them, getting up and taking Steve’s elbow.

 

“She’s gotten real energetic for no reason,” Steve added, still looking down at his stomach with a soft smile.

 

Junior neared. He stretched out a hand and touched his palm against Steve’s belly, then his face lit up. “Whoa!” he said.

 

“Sure got Rogers in ‘er,” Bucky said, slipping behind Steve and pressing his face against Steve’s cheek as Steve grinned. “She gonna come out and tell the midwife to fight ‘er.”

 

“Go, baby,” Steve said happily.

 

Happy Sam approached and Junior shifted so he could touch Steve’s belly, too. Happy Sam’s face split into a slow, wide grin and he looked up.

 

“She got fight in ‘er, alright,” he said. “Better watch out, pops.”

 

“Oh, shit, you’re right,” Bucky muttered. “Shit, what am I gonna do about _boys?_ ”

 

Steve lazily backhanded him in the mouth. Bucky spluttered and took a staggering step back or two.

 

“Watch your language, shithead,” Steve told him.

 

His men all laughed at him. Bucky opened his mouth to threaten them with disrespect of a superior officer, but then remembered he was listed as KIA and couldn’t even pretend to threaten them with that anymore. So he shut his mouth and sidled up behind Steve again, slipping his hands around his waist.

 

“Double standards, this is,” he muttered.

 

“Shh,” Steve answered fondly, stroking a gentle hand against his belly, “your kid’s doing a jig.”

 

Bucky pushed his hand around to feel. Junior and Happy Sam backed off to let him.

 

“Lookit’chu,” Bucky cooed, “it’s like you don’t like all this attention.”

 

Steve laughed. “Y’know, I bet she doesn’t.”

 

“Too bad,” Bucky said, slipping down to one knee to get on level with Steve’s belly. “Pop loves you and you just gotta deal.”

 

Steve laughed again. Bucky rubbed his face against Steve’s belly, only covering up Junior and Happy Sam’s handprints a little, then got up.

 

“We –” Dum Dum started in the corner.

 

Bucky looked up. “You wanna feel her kick?”

 

“Uh,” Dum Dum said.

 

Gabe punched him in the shoulder. Dum Dum cleared his throat.

 

“Can I tell you something, Cap?” Dum Dum asked, looking at the ground.

 

Bucky’s smile slipped. He gripped Steve’s shoulder. “What?”

 

Dum Dum jerked a hand towards the kitchen. “In there?”

 

Steve grabbed Bucky’s arm and Bucky quickly ducked to give his cheek a kiss, just to reassure him. Steve grabbed his hand and Bucky helped him to the sofa where he could sit down, and Junior came to kneel in front of him, reaching out again to touch Steve’s baby bump. Bucky ran his hand over the back of Steve’s neck while Dernier and Falsworth neared, then followed Dum Dum and Gabe into the kitchen.

 

Bucky crossed his arms over his chest and faced Dum Dum. Dum Dum wasn’t looking at him.

 

“Go on,” Gabe prompted.

 

“You gonna tell me what I think you gonna tell me?” Bucky asked sharply.

 

Dum Dum winced. “I’m sorry, Cap,” he sighed.

 

Bucky jerked his gaze away, dropping his arms to ball his hands into fists.

 

“I didn’t know –” Dum Dum said, stepping closer and Bucky held out a hand, separating them. “It was a couple of years ago,” Dum Dum tacked on. “Just – Not – A blow, was all –”

 

“You put money in his pocket,” Bucky cut in, then exhaled sharply and straightened himself. “Money that probably saved his life at some point.”

 

“I don’t know what to do to make it up to you,” Dum Dum said sorrily.

 

“Make it up to _me?_ ” Bucky repeated. He shook his head, dropping his hands onto his hips and looking away. “Look, Dugan, when he was out there – I was off somewhere else with my tail between my legs thinkin’ he could make it on his own. I’m still tryna make it up to _him._ ”

 

Dum Dum still looked sorry. “I wish I hadn’t gone looking for – for that, honest, I’m still makin’ it up to my Omega.”

 

Bucky blew out his breath again, raising his hands to cover his face. He stared at the floor for a minute, then dropped his hands and tried to let it go. There was never any time when he’d been angry or upset about Steve’s work, but he’d never met one of his Johns face-to-face before and he’d never dreamed it might’ve been somebody he knew.

 

“Anybody else on the team?” he asked bitterly.

 

“Not as far as I know,” Dum Dum said.

 

Bucky gave a nod, pinched the bridge of his nose, then nodded again. “Do me a favor, don’t touch him.”

 

“I won’t,” Dum Dum promised.

 

“You wanna give an apology,” Bucky said then, “give it to Steve.”

 

Dum Dum gave a nod. Bucky took another deep breath, then walked around to the table and picked up his beer. He took a long swig from it, put it down, then drew in another long breath before pushing past Dum Dum and Gabe into the living room.

 

Steve looked up nervously as he entered. Bucky knelt next to him by the sofa and put a hand on his belly, feeling their child kicking.

 

“Everything okay?” Steve asked quietly.

 

Bucky looked up at Dum Dum. Dum Dum wrung his hands in front of him. Steve sighed.

 

“I don’t recognize you,” he said, looking up frankly. “If that helps.”

 

“I’d like to apologize,” Dum Dum said.

 

Steve simply nodded. Bucky reached out and took Steve’s hand with his empty one, squeezing it.

 

“I made a lotta mistakes around that time,” Dum Dum continued. “I’m still payin’ for ‘em with my wife.”

 

Steve looked at Bucky, biting his lip. Bucky just shrugged.

 

“I ain’t mad about any of it, angel,” he promised. “You know that.”

 

Steve looked relieved and squeezed Bucky’s hand back. Bucky pulled it closer and kissed the back of Steve’s hand.

 

“This has been awkward enough,” Steve decided. “And this kid’s getting mad that she’s not getting dinner, so –”  


“Right,” Bucky said quickly, standing up.

 

Junior and Happy Sam backed up as Bucky helped Steve to his feet, then walked with him back into the kitchen. His team followed, and as Bucky helped Steve into his seat, his men stood behind their chairs, waiting. Only once Steve had sat and settled himself did they pull out their chairs and sit, which Bucky thought to be kind of them. That show of respect was nice to see. He sat, too, briefly reaching over to brush a knuckle against Steve’s cheek, then picked up his spoon and gave his goulash a stir.

 

“How’s life in Canada, then?” Morita asked.

 

Bucky chewed a hunk of beef, then swallowed. “Quiet,” he said, smiling. “I’m workin’ in a garage, that’s where Dum Dum and Dernier found me –”

 

“That’s why y’all were so excited!” Gabe said, punching Dum Dum on the shoulder.

 

“He made us swear not to say anything until he’d talked to the missus,” Dum Dum said quickly. “Swear on our mama’s graves!”

 

“I didn’t make you swear on your mama’s grave,” Bucky said down the table.

 

“Your mama ain’t even dead yet,” Happy Sam reminded him.

 

Dum Dum waved his bread. “It’s the principle of the thing!”  


“I did make them swear,” Bucky agreed. “Steve’s cover got blown right after I popped Hitler, so we had to book it to get away from the Nazis.”

 

“Last I heard, Nazis were still lookin’ for you,” Gabe said. “Steve, I mean.”

 

Bucky shrugged. “Yeah, so we booked it.”

 

“Why _Canada?_ ” Morita asked.

 

Bucky gave him an affronted look. “Why you guys come to Canada? It’s a nice place!”

 

“That doctor who failed to make a super soldier was up here,” Steve explained.

 

Bucky shrugged and nodded, digging back into his goulash.

 

“Erskine’s serum worked part of the way,” Steve continued, “just not the way the Army wanted. Worked enough to improve my health.”

 

“The file said you were sickly,” Gabe agreed. “Agent Carter said you were starving despite having plenty of rations, even.”

 

Steve dropped his gaze.

 

“That was Schmidt,” Bucky said, his hand curling into a fist over his spoon just thinking about it. “The man beat Steve and beat him worse if he didn’t lose weight.”

 

“Oh,” Gabe muttered.

 

“Yikes,” Morita whispered.

 

Steve gave a laugh. “Yikes,” he agreed, nodding. “It felt good to see him get his own.”

 

“That was why you killed him second!” Junior gasped. “The whole damn world been up in arms, wonderin’ why you took out Schmidt right after Hitler when all Hitler’s generals were lined up there and ready!”

 

“Took some real guts to do what you did,” Dum Dum spoke up. Steve shrugged. “The war probably never would’a ended if it hadn’t been for you, Mrs. Barnes.”

 

Steve gave another laugh, shaking his head. “Technically, I’d be Mr. Barnes, but we’re living under my name now.”

 

“Jim Rogers,” Gabe said, like he was picturing it in his head. “That’s a fucking awful name, Cap.”

 

“Well, it’s actually Bucky Rogers,” Bucky said, chuckling.

 

“Bucky?” Morita said, screwing up his face. “The fuck is Bucky?”

 

“That fuck is Bucky!” Steve insisted, throwing a hand in his direction. “Did he tell _no one_ that was his name?”

 

“How the fuck is he _Bucky?_ ” Morita demanded. “He’s Jim!”   


“It’s ‘cause his middle name!” Steve said. “Buchanan!”

 

“That makes no sense,” Morita said.

 

“Well, you can go back in time and tell me when I was two that Bucky doesn’t make sense,” Steve retorted. Then he looked at Bucky with reproving in his eyes. Bucky shrank a little, feeling ashamed. “Why the hell would you go by Jim when there are a million Jims in the world and only the one Bucky?”

 

Bucky shrugged. “It made me think of you and then I’d get sad, doll.”

 

Steve rolled his eyes. “Oh, sure,” he said. “Sometimes I wonder if you like Jim better.”

 

“No, of course not!” Bucky said quickly, grabbing Steve’s hand between both of his and pressing a kiss to the back of it. Steve raised his eyebrows. “I never even got used to people calling me Jim, baby.”  


“Look at him,” Falsworth snorted. “Whipped like a dog.”

 

“Don’t knock it ‘til you try it,” Bucky told him.

 

“Whipping?” Falsworth asked, raising his eyebrows.

 

Bucky colored. “I meant –”

 

“Don’t knock it ‘til you try it,” Steve quoted. Bucky gave him a disapproving look and Steve just laughed at him. “You’re gonna be awful at scolding the kids,” he sniggered.

 

“I’ll just leave it to you,” Bucky said. “It’s obvious who wears the pants in this marriage.”

 

“Buck, I’m even wearing a dress right now,” Steve laughed.

 

“That just makes it more obvious!” Dum Dum called.

 

“I ain’t ashamed,” Bucky said, sitting back in his chair. “My Omega’s ten times smarter’n I am, plus, he’s prettier, too. Why do I gotta be assertive when he can do it better?”

 

“That’s a good attitude, Barnes,” Steve said happily. “Now, eat your fuckin’ stew.”

 

Bucky tucked in obediently. His men laughed. Bucky didn’t mind.

 

After second, and even third helpings in Steve and Happy Sam’s case, they migrated back into the living room, where Steve sat pressed to Bucky’s side in one of the loveseats and the Howlies spread out across the room, with Junior on the floor since there weren’t enough seats for all of them.

 

“Why am I always the one on the floor?” Junior demanded.

 

“‘Cause you’re a kid!” Bucky and Dum Dum said at the same time.

 

“Jinx,” Steve mumbled.

 

Bucky kissed his cheek. Steve smiled faintly and leaned on him, shutting his eyes.

 

“You gotta kick ‘em out in an hour,” Steve said, waving a hand in Bucky’s direction. “Wake me up then,”

 

“Yes, sir,” Bucky answered and Steve smiled wider, then curled up on the sofa and set his face on Bucky’s shoulder. Bucky kissed his forehead, curling his arm more snugly around him.

 

“Y’all are really in love,” Gabe spoke up. Bucky glanced at him, then back at Steve, a smile curling his lip. “It’s plain for anybody to see,” Gabe added.

 

“Is sweet,” Dernier said, his hand curling around Gabe’s.

 

Bucky smiled a little wider, setting his free hand on Steve’s swollen belly. “We really are,” he said softly.

 

“That’s great,” Dum Dum said. Bucky still had trouble looking at him, but he glanced up and Dum Dum wsa nodding firmly. “It’s great to see you happy, Cap.”

 

Bucky nodded lightly. He set his temple against Steve’s head, drawing in a deep breath.

 

“Tell me what happened to you guys,” Bucky asked. “After I got captured.”

 

“Yikes,” Morita said simply.

 

“Handful of things,” Dum Dum said, sighing. “I replaced you, we got sent to the front lines.”

 

“Miracle we all made it out,” Gabe said.

 

“I’m glad you did,” Bucky told him. Then gave Dum Dum a nod. “And you deserved that promotion.”

 

Dum Dum smiled tightly. “They only made me a lieutenant, not a captain.”

 

“You still deserved it,” Bucky insisted. “Clearly, you got all the boys out alive.”

 

“Mostly,” Dum Dum said.

 

Happy Sam stuck his foot in the air and pulled back the hem of his pants. “I got a peg leg,” he said proudly.

 

Bucky gave a laugh; he didn’t see how he hadn’t noticed before, but Happy Sam did, indeed, have a wooden leg.

 

“It’s not a peg, you got a foot,” Morita told him.

 

“I got a wooden leg,” Happy Sam rephrased.

 

“Yep,” Dum Dum said.

 

“I got shot in my left thigh,” Bucky said, sticking his leg out to point. “Nearly hit the artery. Still flares up these days.”

 

“‘S ‘cause you do stupid things like carry me down the stairs,” Steve mumbled.

 

Bucky’s team sniggered.

 

“Well, you’re carrying my baby, it’s the least I can do,” Bucky told him.

 

Steve smiled, rubbing his cheek against Bucky’s shoulder a little.

 

“Anyway,” Dum Dum said, “Sam got the worst of it. We made it out.”

 

“War was over pretty quick thanks to y’all,” Gabe said.

 

“Yeah, thanks, Cap!” Junior called.

 

“Shh, you’ll wake the baby,” Steve muttered.

 

“Sweetheart, the baby can’t hear anything,” Bucky reminded him.

 

Steve reached up and slapped a hand in vague movements until he found Bucky’s face. Bucky jerked back but Steve covered his mouth with a palm.

 

“Shh,” he repeated.

 

“Shuddup,” Bucky grumbled from under Steve’s hand to his laughing men. He pulled Steve’s hand down, giving it a placating kiss, then pointed at each of his men. “You heard the Omega, you’ll wake the baby!”  


“Alright, alright,” Dum Dum laughed. “So, hey, what else you got up to? Other than knocking up your Omega.”

 

Bucky shrugged, smiling a little sadly and thinking of Gabriel. Gabe had inspired that thought, he knew, but they named their lost child after the angel.

 

“Steve works as a clerk for Doc Erskine,” Bucky said, instead. “He’s got a family practice nearby. We go to a Russian Orthodox church, with the family that own the garage I work at, the Romanoffs. We actually bought this place from them.”

 

“It’s a nice place,” Falsworth said, looking around then. “Very spacious.”

 

“I’m guessin’ you gonna fill it up,” Dum Dum said, smirking.

 

Bucky shrugged. “We’re thinking four kids.”

 

“A good number,” Morita said.

 

“Just you wait, they’ll end up having nine or ten,” Gabe added, elbowing Morita.

 

“Hey, don’t jinx us,” Bucky called.

 

“You guys like it here, then?” Happy Sam asked.

 

Bucky gave a nod, smiling and then glancing at Steve. “It’s a great place.”

 

“What about your parents?” Junior asked. Bucky glanced at him, then away. “Do they know?”

 

Bucky shook his head. “And you can’t tell them. Anyone. You can’t say anything.”

 

“We won’t,” Dum Dum promised.

 

“But –” Junior started, frowning. “Your parents?”

 

“No,” Bucky said.

 

“You ever gonna tell them?” Junior asked with big eyes.

 

Bucky shrugged. “I don’t know,” he said. But he knew. They wouldn’t.

 

“We won’t mention anything,” Dum Dum promised again. “You got our solemn oath.”

 

“Thank you,” Bucky said. His gaze drifted, like the pull of a magnet, to Steve. “We appreciate it.”

 

Bucky showed his team out around nine, promising that they could get back together another time while the Howlies were in town. He wrote down his and Steve’s telephone number for each of them and added the number for the garage, just to be safe. Upon seeing them out, Bucky returned to find Steve sitting up, yawning and stretching, and he promptly scooped Steve up off the couch.

 

“This is why your leg hurts half the time,” Steve complained as Bucky carried him up the stairs.

 

“It’s worth it,” Bucky told him.

 

Steve smiled into his collar. Bucky laid him on the bed, kissed him, and then helped him dress for bed. They turned the lights out and Steve pressed his back into Bucky’s chest in their bed, and both his hands held Bucky’s hand firmly over his belly.

 

“Rebecca if it is a girl,” Steve mumbled to him.

 

“And Sarah,” Bucky suggested.

 

“Rebecca Sarah?” Steve said. He huffed. “You’re gonna have more daughters; that’s a dumb ass name.”

 

Bucky laughed softly. “If you say so, angel.”

 

“I say so,” Steve mumbled softly, his breath evening out towards sleep.

 

Bucky kissed the back of his neck. “I love you,” he promised.

 

“Love you, too,” Steve answered, sounding as if he were already asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _this actually the end of part two. next week we'll be moving on to part three and bringing in some old familiar faces. see you then!_


	22. Part Three, One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"The Lord is longsuffering, and of great mercy, forgiving iniquity and transgression, and by no means clearing the guilty, visiting the iniquity of the fathers upon the children unto the third and fourth generation."_  
>  Numbers 14:18
> 
>  _"Then came Peter to him, and said, Lord, how oft shall my brother sin against me, and I forgive him? till seven times? Jesus saith unto him, I say not unto thee, Until seven times: but, Until seventy times seven."_  
>  Matthew 18:21-22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _part three! some familiar faces are going to arrive soon, hint hint._

 

**_[october 6th, 1949]_ **

 

Peggy checked her lipstick in a compact mirror as she paused on the corner, using that as an opportunity to look over her shoulder. She’d been suspicious that she’d had a tail, but there was no one there anymore. She’d taken a complex enough route –

 

Peggy put away her compact and began a brisk walk again. Her heels clicked on the pavement as she turned the corner and headed down a street lined with row and townhouses. She looked around as though a tourist examining the architecture in a combination of curiosity and being a bit lost, but never let her gaze rest anywhere for longer than a second. She took care to locate the house she was looking for in her gawking and turned to open the gate and enter without hesitation. She swept her eyes from left to right as she approached the stoop, but the street was deserted. Hopefully, that meant she really hadn’t been followed or had lost her tail, rather than she was being watched from somewhere she couldn’t see.

 

Peggy lifted the knocker of the front door and hit it against the brass plate in a careful pattern to mimic Tchaikovsky’s 1812 Overture. Then she stepped back and pushed her hands into her pockets to wait.

 

The door was opened. Peggy looked down and blinked at the young girl holding onto the door handle.

 

“Uh,” Peggy said, peering into the house for an adult, “is your mother home?”

 

The girl blinked at her, then stuck a few fingers into her mouth and continued to blink. Peggy would that guess she was about two years old, and if she looked, she could see some familiar features in her young face. Her cheeks are round and rosy, her chin a sharp point with a faint cleft in its center, her baby hair thick, wild, and dark. She had distinctly blue eyes, reminiscent of her mother’s, Peggy thought.

 

“Rebecca Joan Rogers!” Steve’s voice called from inside the house. “How many times do we have to tell you not to open the front door!”   


 

Steve came into view, jogging with a lower center of gravity, to grab the little girl and pull her back. Peggy’s eyes fixed on the curve of his stomach and she blinked.

 

“Peggy?” Steve said then and Peggy shook herself.

 

“May I come in?” she asked.

 

“Yes,” Steve said. He shook himself, then bent his knees and lifted the little girl off the ground. “Yeah, come in.”

 

Peggy stepped over the threshold, closing the front door behind her. She flipped the lock for good measure.

 

“Uh, this way,” Steve said, walking down a long hallway from the vestibule. 

 

Peggy followed him, looking around curiously. There were stairs just past the vestibule on the right, then a sitting room furnished with sofas and chairs in light blue to the left. Steve lead her through a doorway lacking a door into an airy kitchen, lit well by the windows over the sink and the rear door.

 

Peggy set her handbag down in a chair while Steve put the little girl in a small playpen. Steve straightened back up with obvious difficulty after petting the toddler on the cheek and he turned around, facing Peggy. He and Peggy just looked at each other for a second.

 

“I have tea,” Steve said, a smile lifting his lip.

 

Peggy grinned. “Thank the Lord, you don’t sound like you need it.”

 

Steve laughed and waved her forward. Peggy embraced him, glad to see him after all their time apart, and Steve patted her shoulder as they pulled back.

 

“You look good,” he said.

 

“Well, winning a war will do that to you,” Peggy answered, smiling still. “You look good, too – And look at you!”   


 

Peggy grasped his wrists and stepped back, eyeing his filled out frame. “You were so pale and thin when we met,” she said, shaking her head.

 

Steve smiled, his cheeks coloring. “Married life is treating me well,” he agreed. 

 

“When are you due?” Peggy asked him, then reached out a little. “Could I –?”   


 

“Sure,” Steve says, dropping his hands to cup his stomach. 

 

Peggy touched her fingers to his bump, then her palm, and smiled as she felt a firm kick.

 

“I’m due in January, actually,” Steve told her.

 

“How sweet,” Peggy murmured. “Hello in there, little one. Are you behaving yourself?”

 

Another firm thump delivered itself to her palm.

 

“She’s been dancing on my bladder all day,” Steve reported and Peggy laughed softly. “I think she’s eager to come out.”

 

“Well, wouldn’t you know,” Peggy said. She pulled back her hand, knowing it wasn’t proper to maintain long contact with an Omega’s baby bump if you weren’t close family; it would leave a deeper scent-mark, after all. “Much like her dam.”

 

“Dam,” Steve laughed, sweeping his hand over his bump. “I haven’t heard anybody say that since my ma died.”

 

“Shame, it’s a lovely neutral word,” Peggy sighed.

 

“Ma!” the little girl decided to speak up. Steve turned and she lifted her arms. “Mama!” she called again.

 

“Are you going to run wild again?” Steve asked her with a stern look.

 

The little girl sat down, her lip curled down. Steve reached into the playpen and touched her hair, which seemed to calm her.

 

“How old is she?” Peggy asked, smiling.

 

“Two and a half,” Steve answered, glancing her way before turning his attention on his daughter again. “She’s a little spoiled.”   
  


“A baby sister will cure her of that,” Peggy said.

 

Steve smiled, shrugging. “Hopefully. Anyway, it’s Bucky’s fault she’s spoiled.”

 

“Fathers tend to do that with their daughters,” Peggy laughed.

 

Steve smiled a bit more, then gave his daughter another pet to the head before walking towards the stove. “I’ll make some tea,” he said. “I’ve only got green tea, though.”

 

“That’s fine,” Peggy answered, taking a seat at the kitchen table. Steve’s daughter waved a hand at her and she waved back, smiling.

 

Steve set up a small pot of tea, putting cups on the table and adding honey to the pot while the kettle boiled. Peggy took another moment to look around; an impressive looking refrigerator stood between the stove and the back door, little cross-stitches hung on the walls beside neatly framed sketches of the house and a few other buildings. Peggy examined them, recognizing a mechanic’s garage and a stately church among the drawings.

 

“Did you do these?” Peggy asked then, noticing the initials in the corner; SGB.

 

Steve glanced over his shoulder, then colored. “Uh, yeah,” he admitted, a smile curling his lip. “Bucky had them framed and hung them up there.”

 

“They’re very good,” Peggy told him. “What’s the significance of the places?”

 

Steve walked over, pulling out a chair and lowering himself into it. “Well, there’s our house,” he started, pointing to the sketch of the house they were in. “Then those other two homes, that’s the Romanoff’s and Doc’s house. Doctor Erskine.”

 

“Yes, I heard you had grown close,” Peggy said. “Who are the Romanoffs?”

 

“A local family,” Steve explained. “The garage, that’s Romanoff and Sons, Bucky works there. The family sort of adopted us.”

 

Peggy smiled again, looking at the garage’s drawing. “That’s wonderful,” she said. “I’m so glad for you.”

 

Steve nodded. “And the church is Saint Barlaam of Chikoy, where we go.”

 

“You’re going to church,” Peggy observed, looking at Steve with a wide grin. “That’s wonderful!”

 

Steve nodded again. “Took me a while to not feel – Well, you know. But I’ve moved past it. I got absolution at Saint Barlaam’s.”   


 

“That’s wonderful,” Peggy simply said again. “I’m so happy for you.”

 

Steve smiled, looking up at the drawings. “We really love it here,” he said softly.

 

Peggy reached over and covered his hand with one of hers. “I’m glad for you,” she repeated.

 

Steve picked up her hand and squeezed it. “I hate to ask,” he started, “but are you here just to say hello or…?”

 

Peggy let her smile turn a little sorry. “It’s business, I’m afraid.”

 

Steve sat up straighter. “Right,” he said stoically. “Me or Buck?”

 

“Your Alpha, unfortunately,” Peggy admitted, sighing. “And I feel awful about the timing, but it’s a very sensitive case.”

 

Steve nodded, then looked up at the clock. “He should be home in a little while. Would you like to join us for dinner?”

 

“That would be lovely,” Peggy said, shaking Steve’s hand a little in return. “Thank you.”

 

Steve gave a nod. The kettle whistled and he got up. Peggy watched him fill the teapot, then hook two cups on a finger as he carried them empty to the table with the pot in his other hand. He set them down, arranged the cups, then lowered himself into his seat again.

 

“So,” he said and Peggy braced herself, “what have you been up to the past four years?”

 

Peggy smiled and gave a shrug. “A lot of it is classified,” she joked.

 

Steve snorted, shaking his head. “At least that means you’re still working,” he said.

 

“Are you not working?” Peggy asked, then glanced at her watch. “It’s still business hours, I guess.”

 

“I do work,” Steve said, “but I’m on leave right now, y’know –” He leaned back and set his hands on his bump, smiling down himself. “Can’t work while I’m in the family way.”

 

“I’ll admit, I always thought that a little silly,” Peggy told him. “I mean, if you had a job like mine, then by all means, take time off, but if you’re working at literally any job marketed to Omegas –”

 

“I’m actually an office manager,” Steve cut her off, “I used to be Doctor Erskine’s receptionist, but after Rebecca was born, I started working the office at Bucky’s garage.”

 

He pointed to the drawing and Peggy glanced back up at it. “The office is closed off from the garage, so I can take Rebecca with me,” Steve continued. 

 

“Still, managing an office isn’t very taxing,” Peggy said, turning back to face her friend.

 

Steve shrugged. “I miscarried our first in ‘46,” he said and Peggy shut right up. “So,” Steve said, exhaling, “it’s better for me to keep to myself.”

 

“I’m so sorry,” Peggy said, reaching across the table to take Steve’s hand. “I – I didn’t mean anything against you. I shouldn’t have said anything.”

 

“It’s alright,” Steve answered, covering her hand on his and patting it. “You couldn’t have known.”

 

“I’m very sorry, still,” Peggy told him. “For your child, as well.”

 

Steve shrugged again, his gaze slipping to the glass tabletop. “It may have been for the best,” he said quietly. “There were some things I needed to work out first, and losing the baby –”

 

Peggy squeezed Steve’s hand when Steve slipped into silence. Steve exhaled carefully and cast Peggy a smile, then looked over to the playpen in the corner where little Rebecca was waving around a toy airplane. Peggy turned to watch her, too, as she made sound effects and waved the toy over her head in some unseen drama in her own head that neither Steve nor Peggy could begin to comprehend. 

 

“It’s not so difficult,” Steve said then. “Living with what I did, I mean. It’s not difficult when I remember that none of what I have now would have been possible if I never did any of it.”

 

“There are a lot of children that wouldn’t have been born without your sacrifices, Steve,” Peggy answered him gently.

 

Peggy looked back as Steve smiled lightly. He pushed up from the table and made his way to the playpen and little Rebecca looked up just as he approached. The toddler stuck her hands out in the air, the toy airplane still clutched in her small fist, and Steve lifted her off the floor into his arms, tucking her against his hip.

 

“This is Aunt Peggy,” Steve said to Rebecca, nearing the table again; Peggy covered her mouth with a hand, touched by emotion. “Will you say hi to Aunt Peggy?” Steve said.

 

Rebecca waved the toy airplane at Peggy, then lifted it to her mouth and started chewing on the tail.

 

“No, no, don’t put that in your mouth,” Steve said quickly, taking the airplane from her. 

 

Rebecca immediately screwed up her face and started to cry, but Steve put the airplane on the table and dug around in the pocket of his house dress, tugging out a pacifier. He stuck it in Rebecca’s mouth and the toddler stopped crying immediately, instead fisting her hands in the front of Steve’s dress and sucking on the pacifier happily.

 

“There,” Steve added. He began gently bouncing Rebecca on his hip, smiling at her warmly. “Is that better, sweetheart?”

 

Rebecca cooed gently around the pacifier. Peggy grinned behind her hand.

 

“Lookit’chu,” Steve chuckled. He tapped her on the tip of her nose and Rebecca squealed, grabbing at her face while Steve laughed again. “Aren’t you the cutest little thing?” Steve asked her, tapping under her chin now.

 

“She’s so darling,” Peggy sighed.

 

Steve glanced at her, then joined Peggy at the table again and set Rebecca on his knee. “She’s the most darling,” he said proudly, looking down at his daughter with hearts in his eyes, practically.

 

“Hi, Rebecca,” Peggy said, waving a little at the toddler. “Can you say hi?”

 

“Say hi to Aunt Peggy?” Steve prompted.

 

Rebecca only waved, her two little fingers curled still and her thumb curved inward some. Steve waved to Peggy, too, still looking at Rebecca. “Say hi?” he asked again.

 

Rebecca looked at him, her eyes large in confusion. Steve plucked the pacifier out of her mouth and prompted her to say hi again. Rebecca looked at Peggy, then waved and mumbled, “‘Lo.”

 

“Hello,” Peggy answered her gleefully. She stuck out her hand to Rebecca, gently prodding Rebecca’s still outstretched hand with one of her fingers. “How do you do, Miss Rebecca?”

 

Rebecca looked down at Peggy’s hand, then wrapped both of her fists around Peggy’s outstretched finger and pulled her hand in close to peer at Peggy’s bright red nail. She looked at her own fingers, then back at Peggy’s, then looked up at Steve with great confusion. Peggy covered her mouth with a hand again as she stifled her sniggering.

 

“Aunt Peggy has pretty fingernails, doesn’t she?” Steve said. “Yes, she does.”

 

Rebecca tugged on Peggy’s finger again, opening her mouth. Steve hastily pushed the pacifier into Rebecca’s mouth and Peggy gently pried her finger out of Rebecca’s grip.

 

“She’s at that age where she puts everything in her mouth,” Steve explained to Peggy. “She’s teething, still, her molars are starting to come in.”

 

“Perfectly understandable,” Peggy answered, nodding sagely.

 

Rebecca looked between her dam and Peggy with big, baby-blue eyes. She looked adorably clueless and Peggy couldn’t help continuing to smile.

 

Then the front door opened behind them and Rebecca squealed loudly as she scrambled off Steve’s lap and went running, her dark curls bouncing and her little feet pattering across the wood floors. Steve sighed heavily and pushed to his feet, but he was smiling, too. Peggy stood as well, turning almost hesitantly towards the door leading out of the kitchen.

 

“Hi!” Peggy heard Jim’s excited voice from the front of the house. “Aw, your mama’s gonna be mad I got you all greasy, solnishka –”

 

“You’re supposed to leave your overalls at work,” Steve answered. 

 

Peggy stepped into the doorway behind him, but while Steve walked the length of the hallway to greet Jim at the door, Peggy lingered by the entrance to the kitchen as guilt for what she had to ask them prickled in her gut. 

 

Jim, dressed in coveralls that were stained by engine grease, kissed Steve chastely on the lips as he held Rebecca on his hip. Steve had a hand fisted in Jim’s collar and he pulled him down for a second kiss, one that Jim and Steve both grinned into. Rebecca giggled and started tugging on Jim’s hair, shorter than it had been last Peggy had seen, as he and Steve continued to kiss; Jim winced and Steve laughed. Peggy politely dropped her gaze to the ground, feeling rather an intruder in this happy family.

 

“You’re disgusting,” Steve said fondly.

 

“You’re gorgeous,” Jim answered smittenly. “How’d I end up so lucky?”

 

Steve laughed again, but then glanced over his shoulder towards Peggy. Jim looked up and his eyes widened in surprise as he finally noticed her. 

 

“Hey,” Jim called. “Agent Carter –”

 

“Call me Peggy,” Peggy interrupted him quickly, now walking forward. “It’s lovely to see you, Jim.”

 

“Call me Bucky,” Jim answered. He stuck out his hand, then glanced down at it and frowned at the grease stains on his fingers and palms. Peggy put out her hand and Jim – Bucky – shrugged before shaking her hand anyway.

 

“It’s good to see you,” Jim – Bucky, Jim, Lord, it was confusing – Bucky said.

 

“I wish it were under better circumstances,” Peggy responded. “I’m here on business.”

 

Bucky stood up a little taller. Steve set a hand on his shoulder, giving him a reassuring smile, then he reached over and lifted Rebecca off Bucky’s hip.

 

“Why don’t you go wash up for supper?” Steve suggested gently. “I invited Peggy to join us.”

 

“Right,” Bucky answered, sounding stiff. He touched Steve’s shoulder and kissed Rebecca’s forehead, then Steve caught a kiss from his as well before he turned to head up the stairs. 

 

Steve gave Peggy a smile and started back for the kitchen. Peggy followed him, stopping by the table as Steve put Rebecca down on the counter by the sink and started wiping the engine oil off her arms and hands that her father had transferred onto her skin.

 

“Has it been nice, living here?” Peggy asked abruptly.

 

Steve glanced over his shoulder at her, then turned his attention back on Rebecca as he nodded. “It’s peaceful, quiet. We go to church on Sundays and have supper with the Romanoff’s after and Rebecca’s made great friends with all the Romanoff kids. It’s amazing.”

 

Peggy wandered closer as Steve talked, coming to stand by his side. Rebecca waved to her again while Steve gently scrubbed at her skin with a wet cloth.

 

“You certainly look happier,” Peggy said.

 

Steve laughed. “Pegs, anything could make me happier compared to New York.”

 

Peggy lifted her brows and nodded a little, as Steve was undoubtedly correct. Steve finished cleaning Rebecca up and lifted her off the counter, placing her in a high chair at the end of the kitchen table instead. He tied a bib around her neck and planted a kiss on her cheek, causing Rebecca to squeal and squirm. Steve nuzzled her hair briefly, then turned back to the stove and picked up potholders, opening the oven and taking out a small casserole pan. Peggy stepped out of his way so Steve could set the pan – filled with lasagna – on the table.

 

“Can I help any?” she asked.

 

“You could get out plates,” Steve answered, pointing to a cupboard.

 

Peggy moved to take plates out from the cupboard as indicated while Steve set a small pot from the stove on the table and took out a salad bowl before pulling lettuce and a cucumber from the fridge. Peggy put down the plates, then took out utensils from a drawer Steve pointed out and set them out as well. Rebecca banged a chubby hand on her high chair’s tray as Peggy helped Steve get dinner on the table. 

 

As Steve was sticking a slotted spoon into a pot of green beans, Bucky entered the kitchen, now dressed in a clean shirt and slacks. He made a beeline for Steve, hugging him around the waist and kissing his cheek. Steve laughed and tried to push him off, but Bucky tugged him closer and started kissing all over Steve’s face while Steve laughed and protested. 

 

Peggy leaned down by Rebecca, pointing at Steve’s flushing cheeks and broad grin.

 

“That there,” she said quietly, “is why you have a little sibling on the way already.”

 

Rebecca looked at Peggy with her faint eyebrows furrowed in the center and her little mouth turned down at the corners. “Buh?” she replied.

 

Peggy raised her eyebrows at the toddler and nodded wisely. Rebecca looked at her parents, then back at Peggy and raised both her hands in an adorable shrug. Peggy chuckled and touched Rebecca’s cheek with a knuckle, thoroughly enamored with the child.

 

“You got ideas on my best girl, Carter?” Bucky asked then, walking over and bending to kiss Rebecca’s cheek. Rebecca squealed and kicked her hands and feet and Bucky blew a raspberry on her cheek, making her shriek with further laughter.

 

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Peggy replied self-importantly.

 

“Good, ‘cause I’d hafta bust out the shotgun and Steve don’t like it when I do that,” Bucky told her, throwing her a wink. He bent again and rubbed his nose over Rebecca’s cheek, making her giggle more. “You’re just Papa’s lil’ girl, ain’t’cha, solnishka?” he asked the baby with a wide grin on his face. “Ain’t’cha, Becky?”

 

“Papa!” Rebecca said happily, waving her hands at her father.

 

Bucky blew another raspberry on her cheek and Rebecca squealed again. Bucky lifted her out of the high chair and swung her into the air, then tucked her into his arms and blew a raspberry on her stomach. Rebecca continued to shriek. Peggy smiled at the scene before her and Steve drew closer, curling his hands around Bucky’s elbow as he grinned, too.

 

“I’m so happy for you two,” Peggy sighed.

 

“We are, too,” Steve answered. Then he tugged on Bucky’s elbow. “C’mon, quite gettin’ her hyper so we can eat, your kid’s hungry.”

 

“Can’t have that,” Bucky replied, shifting Rebecca in his arms to get her upright before he put her back in her high chair. “Wouldn’t do to let your little brother go hungry, would it, solnishka?”

 

“I keep telling you, it’s a girl!” Steve said emphatically.

 

“I keep sayin’ it’s a boy,” Bucky countered. He turned and knocked a finger under Steve’s chin, smiling fondly at him. “An’ I’m gonna be the one collecting when he’s born.”

 

“I’m winning,” Steve insisted, jabbing a finger into Bucky’s face. “It’s a girl!”

 

“Boy,” Bucky said, then quickly kept talking when Steve opened his mouth again. “Shouldn’t we feed you, angel?”

 

Steve jabbed his finger into Bucky’s face again. Bucky caught his hand and pressed a kiss to the back of it, then flipped it and kissed his palm.

 

Steve snatched it away, his cheeks bright red. “We have a  _ guest, _ ” he hissed.

 

“Oh, yeah,” Bucky said, glancing back at Peggy, who just chuckled. “Sorry.”

 

Peggy lifted her hands, shrugging. She pulled out a chair next to Rebecca’s high chair, sitting down and giving the toddler a smile. “I hope you enjoy being an only child for the next few months, dear,” Peggy told her. “You’re going to have quite a few younger siblings.”

 

“Peggy!” Steve spluttered while Rebecca simply said: “Guh?” and Bucky snorted.

 

“Am I incorrect?” Peggy asked, lifting her eyebrows.

 

Steve opened his mouth, then turned red and huffed. Bucky continued sniggering and Steve hit him on the shoulder before pulling out his chair and sitting down. 

 

“C’mon, it ain’t that bad,” Bucky attempted to cajole Steve as he sat at the table, too.

 

Steve looked at him, rolled his eyes, and started serving the lasagna. 

 

Bucky threw an arm over the back of Steve’s chair and leaned in, shoving his face into Steve’s. “Ste–eee–eve,” he whined.

 

Steve thoroughly ignored him. Peggy covered her mouth with a hand and sniggered.

 

“Shut it, Carter,” Bucky remarked.

 

“Bucky, don’t be rude to Aunt Peggy,” Steve said.

 

Bucky looked startled. “ _ Aunt _ Peggy?” he questioned.

 

“Ant Peppy!” Rebecca said brightly.

 

“Aunt Peggy!” Bucky said happily, completely forgetting his confusion to grin at Rebecca. “That’s right,” he said, reaching out and pinching her cheek, “Aunt Peggy! Can you say  _ Aunt Peggy _ again?”

 

“Peppy!” Rebecca repeated.

 

Peggy grinned, delighted. “Good job, Rebecca,” she said proudly.

 

“Peppy!” Rebecca said, clapping her hands together. “Ant Peppy!”

 

“Ain’t you so smart,” Bucky cooed, ruffling Rebecca’s hair. “You just like your mama, you is.”

 

“Maybe it’s because I know the difference between  _ is _ and  _ are, _ ” Steve remarked.

 

“No, you don’t,” Bucky snorted, glancing over at him. “You got worse grammar’n I do, doll.”

 

Steve rolled his eyes. “Shuddup or I’mma make ya sleep on the couch.”

 

“Aw, baby, no,” Bucky said immediately.

 

Steve leveled a finger on him, then scooped lasagna and green beans onto Peggy’s plate and passed it back to her. “Buck, would you say grace?” he said as he did.

 

Peggy set her plate down in front of her and folded her hands together. Bucky and Steve took each other’s hands, then Bucky picked up Rebecca’s little hand and the toddler waved at Peggy, catching her attention.

 

“She wants you to hold her hand,” Steve explained, a smile on his face.

 

Peggy held out a finger to Rebecca and Rebecca curled her fist around Peggy’s finger again. Peggy smiled at her, then bowed her head.

 

“O Christ, our Lord,” Bucky said, “bless this food, drink, and the fellowship of Thy servants, for Thou art holy always, now and ever and unto ages. Amen.”

 

Peggy lifted her gaze as Steve and Bucky both crossed themselves. Peggy copied them, a little clumsily as she hadn’t ever crossed herself before in her life, and Rebecca waved her hands around a few times before slapping her tray again.

 

“Hey, you’ll get your food,” Bucky scolded her. “No hitting.”

 

Rebecca smacked her tray with one hand. “Guh?”

 

“No hitting,” Bucky repeated firmly.

 

Rebecca looked at Steve. Steve just raised his eyebrows. “Listen to your father, Rebecca.” 

 

Rebecca lightly patted her tray with a hand, then folded her hands together and held them up in front of her face. “Pwease?” she said.

 

Peggy laughed and stifled it quickly. Bucky broke into a grin and reached out to touch Rebecca’s cheek briefly, then picked up the little plate from her tray and held it up for Steve to spoon lasagna onto it. Peggy watched Bucky give the plate to Rebecca and thought that that was a disaster waiting to happen.

 

But as they ate, Rebecca was remarkably neat with her lasagna. Granted, it was difficult to be neat when one was eating with one’s hands, but Rebecca contained her mess to her face and hands, her bib, and her plate. 

 

“She’s a very polite child,” Peggy remarked.

 

“She gets it from ‘er ma,” Bucky answered her, speaking with his mouth somewhat full.

 

Steve gave Peggy a look. Peggy smiled and focused on her dinner.

 

As they finished eating, Bucky met Peggy’s eye, now serious. “Business?” he said.

 

Peggy nodded. “I’m afraid so.”

 

Bucky sighed. He stood up and cleared the table of plates, then wiped down Rebecca’s tray with a cloth and removed her bib, wiping her face clean with it. Steve and Peggy watched him, both of them quiet. Bucky lifted Rebecca out of her high chair, then sat down again with her on his knee. He nodded to Peggy.

 

“What is it, then?” he asked.

 

Peggy reached for her handbag in the chair next to her. She withdrew a thick manilla folder, set it on the table and turned it to face Bucky and Steve. She flipped it open.

 

“You know Doctor Arnim Zola,” Peggy started.

 

Bucky scowled down at the folder and didn’t say a word, only grunted. Steve glanced between him and Peggy, his brow furrowed. The air in the kitchen was remarkably tense. Rebecca looked up at her father, then reached up and poked a finger into Bucky’s nose.

 

Bucky snorted and reeled back while Rebecca giggled. Steve sniggered and Bucky’s scowl swapped for a grin; he grabbed Rebecca’s finger and ducked to rub their noses together, making Rebecca squeal and squirm in his arms.

 

“Don’t poke Papa’s nose,” Bucky told her, “Papa’s nose is very gross, you don’t wanna stick your lil’ fingers up there, solnishka.”

 

“Papa’s nose is disgusting!” Steve said happily, reaching in to tickle Rebecca.

 

“Mama, no!” Rebecca squealed. “Papa gross, Papa gross!”

 

“My nose is gross,” Bucky insisted, mocking offense in his tone.

 

“Papa gross!” Rebecca repeated happily.

 

Bucky ducked his head and blew a raspberry on her stomach. Rebecca shrieked and waved her fists around, until Bucky quit blowing raspberries on her stomach and instead scooped her up closer to cradle her to his chest.

 

“No poking your fingers in noses,” Bucky told her.

 

Rebecca giggled and stuck her finger in her own nose. Steve reached over and gently tugged her finger out.

 

“Don’t pick your nose,” he scolded. “It’s gross.”

 

“Mama gross!” Rebecca giggled.

 

“Mama’s gonna make you play in the corner by yourself if you don’t settle down,” Steve told her firmly. 

 

Rebecca whined pitifully, shrinking against Bucky, but Steve was undaunted by the adorable toddler. “Aunt Peggy and Mama and Papa have something very important to talk about,” he said. “Can you be quiet so we can talk?”

 

Rebecca pouted and reached up for Bucky. Bucky lifted her and tucked her against his neck, bouncing her gently.

 

“Can you be quiet?” Bucky asked her again.

 

Rebecca nodded a little and Bucky patted her back. Steve rubbed her back a few times, then shifted his chair closer and leaned on Bucky’s arm. Bucky picked up Steve’s hand and held it on the table and Peggy shifted her attention to the folder again. She cleared her throat.

 

“We’re good,” Steve told her. “Who’s Doctor Zola?”

 

“He’s an enculé and a sukin syn,” Bucky spat out. “I really hope you’re talking to me about that rat ublyudok because he’s dead, Carter.”

 

Peggy blinked at, firstly, Bucky’s colorful French, then at the other non-English words she didn’t recognize. Steve shrugged.

 

“We’ve been trying not to cuss in English around Rebecca,” he explained. “Russian and French are the go-to’s.”

 

“Ah,” Peggy murmured. “Well, I’m sorry to say that Zola is likely still alive.”

 

“Yebat!” Bucky hissed.

 

“She’s gonna learn ‘em in Russian, y’know,” Steve pointed out.

 

“Where’s Zola now?” Bucky demanded of Peggy, not even acknowledging that he heard Steve. “He’s not here –”

 

“He’s in Siberia,” Peggy said quickly. “Your knowledge of the Russian language might come in handy, Jim.”

 

“Bucky,” Bucky corrected her. “You’re not –”

 

Peggy turned pages in the file, until she came to the real reason why she was there. “It’s come to our knowledge that after Schmidt failed to recreate and perfect Erskine’s serum, Zola took over the job. The prison-base I liberated you from, Bucky, was run by Zola.”

 

“He ran tests on the prisoners,” Bucky muttered.

 

Peggy looked up at him frankly, nodding. She tapped the page before them. “We found his notes from that time.”

 

Bucky let go of Steve’s hand to pull the file closer to him, his brow furrowed as he read. Steve covered his arm with a hand, leaning over the folder, too. Rebecca even twisted around, looking curiously. She squirmed until she was sitting forward, then smacked her hand against the paper a few times.

 

“Stop,” Bucky said quietly, catching her hand and forcing her to still. 

 

Rebecca looked up at him, but when he didn’t give her his attention, she leaned back and curled up, sticking her thumb in her mouth. Neither of her parents seemed to notice.

 

“We only recently found Zola’s notes,” Peggy continued. “Otherwise I would have come to you with this sooner. Perhaps we would have been able to apprehend Zola before this, even.”

 

Bucky looked up sharply. “What’s happening now?” he asked.

 

“We have intel that he’s started his experiments again,” Peggy said. “We don’t know if he’s been successful again yet –”

 

“Again?” Steve interrupted her hastily. “When was he successful in the past?”

 

Peggy flicked her gaze to Bucky. Steve glanced at his Alpha, then at her, then back at his Alpha and gawked. Bucky went pale.

 

“That’s not –” Bucky started. “It can’t be –”

 

“You recovered from a near-fatal gunshot in days,” Peggy pointed out gently. “You were lucid at all when I found you. None of the other prisoners survived the first treatment. You went through all five.”

 

Bucky looked at her, his mouth hanging open. Steve grabbed his elbow and shook him gently. Bucky’s gaze slipped to the table, but he still said nothing.

 

“It’s only conjecture unless we run tests,” Peggy said. “But officially –”

 

“Officially, I’m dead?” Bucky cut her off. “That’s what the records say? The Army?”

 

“Officially, you’re dead,” Peggy confirmed. “And that’s not going to change.”

 

“So why are you here?” Bucky asked. “You don’t want me to – to go back and run in a hamster wheel?”

 

“No,” Peggy said. “I came to ask you if you’d go to Siberia and find Doctor Zola.”

 

Bucky looked up at her and gaped again. Steve glanced between them, then grabbed Bucky’s arm with both hands and held on tightly. He didn’t say anything.

 

“Zola’s experiments have been going on for at least a year,” Peggy said, she leaned forward and flipped through the file more to get to the present date, but Bucky didn’t look away from her. “We don’t have proof that he’s been successful in creating another super soldier –”   


 

“Fuck,” Bucky whispered, “another…”

 

“– but there are rumors,” Peggy insisted. “That something went wrong in one of his last experiments. A subject got away –”

 

“I’m not a spy!” Bucky cut her off. “I can’t sneak into a Russian base and assassinate a scientist and get back out again! I can’t do that on my own!”   


 

“There isn’t a base,” Peggy told him. “Not anymore. Last week, there was an explosion that took out the whole facility.”

 

Bucky frowned. “But you said Zola was still alive?”

 

“We think he is,” Peggy answered. “But we’re not sure. We need to find him and bring him back to American soil.”

 

Bucky wrinkled his nose. “Couldn’t I just kill him?”

 

Peggy bit her lip, then glanced down at the file and the details of the treatments and tests Zola ran on Jim Barnes.

 

“Well,” she said, “a lot of things could happen in the Siberian jungle.”

 

“What about the test subject?” Steve spoke up. “You said one got away.”

 

“We think that’s what caused the explosion,” Peggy said, nodding. “It’s possible that the poor bloke might still be alive, but we don’t think anyone got out except Zola himself.”

 

“Unless he survived,” Bucky muttered. He flicked his eyebrows up and pulled the file closer again, looking down at it. “Super soldier.”

 

“We haven’t ruled it out,” Peggy said.

 

Bucky let go of the file and wrapped his arm around Rebecca instead, his lip still curled in a frown. Peggy watched him carefully.

 

“Why are you asking me?” he asked eventually.

 

“Because the best agent doesn’t exist,” Peggy answered. “You have the background as a sniper, you can operate on the ground on your own, and if Zola’s last test subject is alive, you should be able to take him. And you don’t exist,” she concluded softly.

 

“Wouldn’t there be trouble if the USSR found an American operative extraditing one of their citizens?” Steve asked.

 

“Zola’s Swiss,” Bucky mumbled.

 

“There would be trouble,” Peggy told Steve. “Which is why I can’t go after Zola myself or send someone else. But the thing is, Zola doesn’t officially exist either.”

 

Steve glanced up, frowning. “What do you mean?”

 

Peggy shrugged. “According to all accounts, Zola was one of the Nazis killed at Hitler’s assassination.”

 

“He wasn’t there,” Bucky said quickly. “I would’a seen ‘im. He wasn’t there.”

 

“He wasn’t,” Peggy agreed, “but his death certificate says he was.”

 

“Then how do you know he’s alive?” Bucky asked.

 

“I have sources,” Peggy said.

 

Steve looked at Bucky, his hand still on Bucky’s arm. Bucky looked at the file with dislike on his face, then eventually he sighed.

 

“I owe that creep a broken bone or fifty,” Bucky said begrudgingly. “But…”

 

“You should go,” Steve told him gently.

 

“But –” Bucky started again.

 

“We’ll be fine,” Steve promised. “The Romanoffs will help out, you know they will. You deserve to see this finished.”

 

“But I –” Bucky started, then stopped and groaned, reaching up around Rebecca to rub at his temple. “I want to,” he admits, “I really wanna punch the living daylights outta that sonuva but –”

 

“Then go!” Steve insisted. “You need to do this. If not to get closure, to stop this bastard from doing to anyone else what he did to you. To stop him from giving the Reds an army of super soldiers! If he’s done it once, Buck –!”

  
  
“I know,” Bucky muttered. 

 

He sighed heavily, then looked down at Rebecca and petted her hair a few times. Rebecca pulled her thumb from her mouth and reached up to pat Bucky’s face with both hands and Bucky forced a smile.

 

“How long do you reckon it’ll take?” Bucky asked Peggy, though he didn’t look away from his daughter.

 

“Perhaps three months?” Peggy said. “I hate to have brought this up now, but if we miss this chance –”

 

“I get it,” Bucky said quickly. “When?”

 

“I could have you on a plane tonight,” Peggy said. “The sooner, the better.”

 

“Tonight…” Bucky repeated quietly.

 

“If Zola was successful,” Steve reminded him. “If the USSR got their hands on that serum –”

  
  
“I know,” Bucky said again, sighing. He turned to face Steve, then lifted a hand and cupped the back of Steve’s head, bringing their foreheads together gently. “Why you gotta be so righteous, Rogers?”

 

“You know it’s the right thing to do,” Steve said.

 

“You’re not the one havin’ to face Siberia in the winter,” Bucky grumbled.

 

Steve reached up and touched Bucky’s face. Peggy looked down at her hands folded on the table, then pushed to her feet entirely.

 

“I’ll let you talk,” she offered. “Would you like me to take Rebecca?”

 

Bucky glanced down at his toddler, then sighed and nodded. Peggy walked around to the other side of the table and Bucky handed Rebecca to her almost reluctantly. Rebecca didn’t seem to mind being passed to an almost total stranger and Peggy bounced her a few times as she stood there before moving on. Steve reached up as she passed and Peggy paused so he could rub his palm over Rebecca’s cheek a couple of times.

 

“Be good for Aunt Peggy, okay, baby?” he said.

 

“Ant Peppy,” Rebecca repeated, clapping her hands together.

 

“That’s my girl,” Steve answered, smiling at her. He blew her a kiss and Rebecca waved at him. “Thanks, Peggy,” Steve added.

 

“I’ll just be in the parlor,” Peggy told them, starting for the door. “I’ll bring her back if she starts crying.”

 

“Thanks,” Bucky called after her.

 

Peggy walked into the parlor with Rebecca, bouncing the toddler gently on her hip as she walked. She took a seat on a neat pale blue fainting couch and sat Rebecca on her knees.

 

“You’re a very brave little girl,” Peggy told her. “You’re a lot like your dam.”

 

“Dam?” Rebecca repeated. “No-no,” she said, lifting a hand and wagging a finger at Peggy.

 

“Oh, you’re right,” Peggy answered, realizing the resemblance of the word to  _ damn. _ “That’s a no-no. Aunt Peggy did a no-no. Let’s start over. You’re a very brave little girl, and you’re a lot like your Omega. Is that better?”

 

Rebecca clapped her hands, smiling. “Betta!” she said.

 

“There,” Peggy said, giving her a smile in return. “We mustn’t say no-no words, after all.”

 

“Musset,” Rebecca repeated her clumsily, then started giggling. “Musset, musset, musset!”

 

“Musn’t!” Peggy said, laughing herself. “You’re very smart, too.”

 

“Mama smart,” Rebecca said proudly, clapping her hands. “I smart, Mama smart.”

 

“That’s right,” Peggy answered her. “I guess your papa likes to say you’re smart because your mama’s smart, doesn’t he?”

 

“Mama smart!” Rebecca giggled.

 

“I never thought I’d be able to carry a conversation with a two-year-old,” Peggy mused. “Here we are.”

 

Rebecca lifted her hands and waved them, then folded three of her fingers on each hand. “I two,” she said.

 

“You are two!” Peggy gasped. She bounced Rebecca a couple of times, grinning. “Very good, Rebecca, you are two!”

 

“Two!” Rebecca repeats, waving her hands and her two fingers lifted into the air to demonstrate how old she was.

 

“Do you know when your birthday is?” Peggy asked her.

 

Rebecca lowered her hands and frowned, confused. Then she raised her hands again and gave a dramatic and clueless shrug. Peggy chuckled.

 

“It’s alright,” she told Rebecca. “My birthday’s in April.”

 

Rebecca looked at her and blinked. Peggy sighed.

 

“I don’t suppose you know the months yet?” she thought aloud. “No, you wouldn’t, would you?”

 

“Guh?” Rebecca said bemusedly.

 

“Never mind,” Peggy said. She glanced over her shoulder towards the kitchen, then looked back at Rebecca and smiled again. “Do you know any games?”   


 

Rebecca blinked and shrugged again, lifting both her hands and scrunching up the folds of her neck as her shoulders lifted. Peggy chuckled, then thought for a second before turning and setting Rebecca against the back of the fainting couch. Satisfied that the toddler was properly supported, Peggy shifted her own position and covered her face with her hands. Then she jerked them away and said: “Peekaboo!”   


 

Rebecca blinked at her. Peggy sat up and looked at Rebecca speculatively.

 

“Perhaps you’ve mastered Peekaboo,” Peggy said thoughtfully.

 

Rebecca blinked some more, clearly confused.

 

“Piggies go to the market?” Peggy suggested. 

 

She pinched Rebecca’s toes gently and Rebecca squealed, obviously ticklish, but further than that, Peggy had to admit she didn’t know how the game went. She leaned back and looked at Rebecca, thinking, and Rebecca sat up and propped up her chin on her hand. Peggy laughed and Rebecca broke the pose to hug her stomach and giggle. She rocked back and forth on the plush velvet cushion until she rolled onto her back and stuck her feet into the air. Peggy grabbed Rebecca’s heels gently and tickled the bottoms of her feet. Rebecca squealed and kicked her feet, making Peggy chuckle and let her go.

 

“I can see how it’d be easy to spoil you,” Peggy admits, reaching over and tickling Rebecca’s stomach. 

 

Rebecca laughed and twisted around to evade Peggy’s long red nail. Peggy chuckled again and reached around Rebecca’s other side to tickle her more.

 

“Ant Peppy, no!” Rebecca squealed.

 

“Well, if you say so,” Peggy sighed. 

 

Rebecca giggled some more and rolled over onto her stomach. She propped up her face on her palms and blinked at Peggy, her eyes huge and her cheeks squished by her hands and by her grin.

 

“What?” Peggy asked.

 

Rebecca giggled, her eyes squeezing shut. She crawled onto her knees instead and grabbed at Peggy’s hair tugging on one of her curls.

 

“Pretty!” Rebecca said. “Peppy pretty.”

 

“Oh, thank you,” Peggy said, pressing a hand to her blouse as though flustered. “You flatter me, Rebecca.”

 

Rebecca giggled and fisted her hands in Peggy’s hair. Peggy lifted Rebecca into her lap again and Rebecca started happily playing with Peggy’s hair.

 

“I guess it’s not that difficult to entertain a toddler,” Peggy mused. “Is it?”

 

Rebecca seemed thoroughly enthralled by Peggy’s hair, so Peggy turned her attention back towards the kitchen in an attempt to catch any trace of what Steve and Jim were saying. She could hear their voices, but they were too hushed to pick out words.

 

At any rate, Peggy heard their chairs moving not long later and Peggy looked over her shoulder as they entered the parlor. Rebecca got distracted from Peggy’s hair and lifted her hands to Jim, who smiled at her and lifted her out of Peggy’s lap.

 

“Did you behave for Aunt Peggy?” Jim – Bucky asked, sitting down on the sofa with Rebecca in his lap. 

 

“She did,” Peggy reported. “She isn’t very amused by Peekaboo, though.”

 

“She’s not,” Steve said, sitting next to Bucky and brushing at Rebecca’s hair with a hand.

 

Bucky cradled Rebecca against him, saying nothing further, and Peggy waited for them to be ready to speak. Steve leaned his head on Bucky’s shoulder and brushed through Rebecca’s hair with a hand. Bucky cooed quietly to their daughter, gentle and loving words. Peggy waited.

 

“I’ll go,” Bucky said eventually.

 

Peggy just nodded. She felt relieved and guilty all at the same time.

 

“Can you give me a couple of days, though?” Bucky asked, looking up at her at last. “So we can get some things in order?”   


 

“I can,” Peggy answered, breathing out hard as she tried to plan mentally. “Saturday night? Is that enough time?”

 

Bucky glanced at Steve, who nodded with a slight grimace. Peggy wished she could give them more than two days, that she could give them through Sunday at the very least, but this was such a time-sensitive case. 

 

They had only gotten the confirmation that Zola was alive and still working on creating what would supposedly be the world’s first super soldier two weeks before. If tensions hadn’t been so high between the US and Russia, Peggy would have gone herself, but because of those tensions, Colonel Phillips had forbidden she go or send any of their agents. Zola still had to be stopped, and Peggy had been left with only one option.

 

“Do you have a place to stay?” Steve asked abruptly. “We have a guest room –”

  
  
“I’m in a hotel across town,” Peggy admitted. “But thank you.”

 

Steve nodded, his lips pressed tightly together. “Well,” he said, looking at Bucky again.

 

“When on Saturday?” Bucky asked.

 

“Oh one hundred hours,” Peggy answered. “Or around then. These things are best done under the cover of darkness.”

 

Bucky exhaled forcefully and glanced at Steve. “What’re you gonna tell the neighbors?” he asked, smiling weakly. “You finally wised up and kicked me out?”

 

“Don’t be stupid,” Steve retorted. “You’ll be sick.”

 

“For three months?” Bucky asked, lifting his eyebrows.

 

“For three months,” Steve said firmly. “Or however long it takes for you to get back home. And if anybody wants to make assumptions, whatever, I don’t care.”

 

“Okay,” Bucky said quietly. “Alright. I’ll – I’ll start actin’ sick, then.”

 

Steve touched Bucky’s face again. Bucky lifted a hand and pressed Steve’s palm to his cheek and Peggy looked away, waited for a beat before clearing her throat and standing.

 

“I should be going,” she said. “It’s getting late.”

 

“Okay,” Steve sighed, pushing up with his swollen belly at his center of gravity. “I’ll walk you out.”

 

Peggy nodded and returned to the kitchen to get her handbag and the file on Dr. Zola. Steve hugged his belly as she gathered her things and as he walked her to the front door, his eyes downcast.

 

“I really am sorry to have brought this to you now,” Peggy said at the last second. She reached out and touched Steve’s shoulder, squeezing it gently. “I’m sorry to have had to bring this to you at all.”   


 

“It’s okay,” Steve insisted. “Really. This is important.”

 

Peggy nodded a little. She squeezed Steve’s shoulder again, then opened the front door and stepped out onto the stoop. 

 

“Goodnight, Steve,” she said, looking over her shoulder.

 

“G’night, Pegs,” Steve answered softly.

 

Peggy turned and took the steps down to the front garden as Steve shut and locked the door behind her. Smart of him, Peggy thought. Most people in these times and these sorts of neighborhoods didn’t lock their doors.

 

Peggy still felt guilty as she made her way across town again, walking to a safe place to call a cab. Once she returned to the hotel she was staying at, she had a plan. 

 

“Collect call to New York, please,” Peggy told the operator.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _familiar faces, familiar faces. and we've got more to come. ily y'all, see you next week!_


	23. Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _domestic sadness again, sorry_

**_[october 8th, 1949]_ **

 

Steve and Bucky tucked Rebecca into bed a little late Friday night. Both of them were on edge. Bucky had a hard time letting go of Rebecca as they tucked her in. He whispered  _ goodbye, moy solnishka _ as he pulled her blanket over her shoulders and lingered at her bedside for a long while. Steve had a hard time letting go of Bucky after.

 

“It’ll be okay,” Bucky said over and over again. “I’ll be back before the baby’s born.”

 

It was awful. At one A.M., Bucky would be taking an airplane to Anchorage, Alaska, then a sled to the coast and from there, a boat to the coast of Russia. It would take him almost a month just to get to Siberia, and after that, he would still have to track down Dr. Zola. There wasn’t any guarantee Bucky would be home within three months.

 

The waiting was almost the worst part. Anticipating the next three months minimum that Steve would be without his Alpha, at the worst point possible in his pregnancy to not have his Alpha around, was worse. Plus, he’d have to field off curious questions from the neighbors about Bucky’s abrupt “illness.” Steve hated how much Mrs. Robinson and Mrs. Tinney gossiped at the sewing circle about him and Bucky to begin with and the pineapple casserole he’d baked with salt instead of sugar and put Mrs. Tinney’s name on for the church potluck did not help. 

 

The mantle clock hit one. A rhythmic knock, the beat of the 1812 Overture, sounded at the door.

 

“It’ll be fine,” Bucky said for the millionth time.

 

Bucky answered the door. Steve waited in the living room, sitting with his crooked spine draw into one long, rigid line on the sofa. Peggy entered the room behind Bucky and Steve sat up even straighter.

 

“I’m glad you two understood the gravity of this mission,” Peggy began. “Quite simply, the result of this cold war between the Soviet Union and the free world may rest on Jim’s shoulders.”

 

“Bucky,” Steve and Bucky corrected her simultaneously.

 

“Bucky,” Peggy agreed. “My apologies.”

 

“I’m ready to leave,” Bucky told her. “I, uh, I just want a minute to say goodbye to Steve.”

 

“Of course,” Peggy said. She nodded and ducked back out of the room. “Take your time,” she said over her shoulder.

 

Steve held out his hands to Bucky and Bucky helped him get up from the couch. Steve couldn’t actually stand up from the sofa by himself anymore. Bucky pulled Steve to his feet, then Steve had barely a second to catch his breath before Bucky was tugging him into a tight hug.

 

“Don’t do anything stupid ‘til I get back, punk,” Bucky said thickly.

 

“How can I?” Steve mumbled into the front of Bucky’s shirt. “You’re takin’ all the stupid with you.”

 

Bucky laughed weakly and hugged Steve tighter. Steve squeaked a little.

 

“You’re squishing the baby,” Steve muttered. “Baby –”

 

“Sorry, sorry,” Bucky said quickly, pulling back. 

 

He cupped Steve’s face in his hands and pressed their foreheads together. Steve reached up and smoothed down Bucky’s collar, then just held onto him, his gaze fixed just below Bucky’s chin. He was a bundle of nerves with a baby squirming around in his womb and his Alpha was leaving for a minimum of three months. Steve felt like shit. Bucky wiped a tear from Steve’s cheek, then dropped his other hand and knocked his finger under Steve’s chin.

 

“It’ll be just fine, angel,” Bucky promised him. “I’ll be back before you know it.”   


 

Steve drew in a steadying breath. “You mean,” he countered stubbornly, “I’ll be counting the seconds and avoiding all of our neighbors because all they’re going to do is ask me how you got sick and how you’re feeling and –”

 

Bucky cut him off by kissing him. Steve grabbed Bucky’s face and lifted onto his toes. Bucky’s mouth was dry and his lips were chapped because he’d been biting them nervously ever since Peggy told them Dr. Zola was alive and still attempting to create super soldiers in Siberia. Steve hated goodbye kisses now just as much as he had in New York.

 

They parted slowly. Steve blinked once and smoothed out the wrinkling his fingers had done to Bucky’s collar. Bucky brushed away another tear from Steve’s cheek. 

 

“It’ll be fine,” Steve insisted.

 

“Fine,” Bucky said.

 

“Fine,” Steve repeated, his voice cracking a little bit.

 

Bucky kissed Steve’s forehead, his nose, and then his lips again. Steve leaned his forehead against Bucky’s shoulder after their lips parted and exhaled sadly. Miserably. The next three months  _ minimum _ would be hell.

 

“I should go,” Bucky muttered.

 

“Yeah,” Steve agreed. He let go of Bucky’s collar to wipe his nose with the back of his hand. “Stay safe, okay? I do not look good in black,” he added in weak humor, “I cannot be a widow.”

 

“I think you look great in any color but I might be biased,” Bucky answered.

 

“Suck-up,” Steve muttered.

 

Bucky laughed softly and pressed a light kiss to Steve’s forehead. “Y’know how much I love you, doll?”

 

“This is getting dangerously sappy and it’s gonna make me cry,” Steve cut him off.

 

“I love you so, so much,” Bucky insisted.

 

“Aw, no, you’re making me cry,” Steve said in a whiny voice, then sniffed hard and threw his arms around Bucky’s neck. He jumped up onto his toes and buried his face in Bucky’s neck, trying to fight off the waves of pregnancy hormones that were making his eyes tear up. “You’d betta not miss the birth of your son, jerk!”

 

“You admitted it’s a boy!” Bucky murmured thickly.

 

“And if you ever tell anyone, I’ll deny it,” Steve insisted.

 

Bucky drew back. Steve curled his hands into fists as he dropped back onto his heels and took a single step back. Bucky clenched his jaw his gaze dropped to Steve’s stomach. He knelt down and Steve let his hands rest on his bump as Bucky hugged Steve around the waist and rubbed his face against Steve’s stomach.

 

“‘M gonna miss telling you about baseball games and people who don’t know how to check their oil,” Bucky said to the baby. “Yannow how much Papa loves complainin’ ‘bout morons like that,” he added.

 

“I sure know,” Steve grumbled.

 

“You be good for Mama,” Bucky continued. “Don’t keep wakin’ him up in the middle’a the night to use the bathroom, okay, kiddo?”

 

“You realize that he’s going to keep doing that because he has nowhere to put his feet but on my bladder,” Steve said.

 

“I realize that,” Bucky answered. “It’s the thought that counts?”

 

Steve shook his head slowly. “You’re honestly the second most pathetic man I’ve ever met,” he said.

 

“Are you the first?” Bucky countered.

 

Steve gasped and hit Bucky in the arm. “I am the mother of your children, you should be ashamed of yourself, you pathetic little man!”

 

Bucky opened his mouth just as Peggy ducked back into the room. “Are you two really insulting each other?” she asked. “On the last day you’re going to see each other for, at a minimum, three months?”

 

“My father never taught me how to show affection because I didn’t have one,” Steve said.

 

“Then your mother would have taught you and then you would be showering your Alpha with kisses,” Peggy pointed out.

 

Steve considered that. “She was Irish,” he added.

 

Peggy lifted her eyebrows, then nodded thoughtfully. “That’s understandable,” she replied. “Barnes, what’s your excuse?”

 

“I’m an asshole,” Bucky said simply.

 

“You’re a jerk,” Steve corrected, grabbing Bucky’s chin and turning his face so he was facing him. “But you’re my jerk and ya’d betta not die, knothead.”

 

“Sir, yes, sir,” Bucky said with a salute.

 

Steve pulled Bucky back up and kissed him. Bucky’s hands held his waist tenderly and Steve interlaced his fingers behind Bucky’s neck. Peggy’s heels clicked down the hallway and Steve lifted onto his toes again, not even caring what Peggy was thinking. He and Bucky broke apart and Steve touched Bucky’s face again.

 

“Seriously,” Steve said quietly.

 

“I know, angel,” Bucky murmured. “‘Til the end of the line, remember?”

 

Steve smiled a little sadly at him and Bucky pressed another kiss to Steve’s lips. 

 

“I’ll see you,” Bucky said.

 

“I’ll see you,” Steve mumbled.

 

They pulled apart. Steve hugged himself and rocked back on his heels. Bucky shoved his hands into his pockets and looked down.

 

“It’ll be okay,” Steve said.

 

Bucky just nodded. He ducked closer again and pecked Steve’s cheek, then grabbed his jacket off the back of the sofa and stepped into the hallway. Steve followed quickly, finding Peggy waiting by Bucky’s bag sitting by the door.

 

“Are you ready?” Peggy asked.

 

Bucky picked up his duffle and swung it over his shoulder. “Yeah,” he said, glancing back once at Steve. Steve nodded once and Bucky looked away again. “I’m ready,” he said.

 

Peggy opened the front door. Steve grabbed Bucky’s elbow and pulled him back just before he could walk out and pulled him down by the face into a fast kiss. Bucky cupped the back of Steve’s neck and squeezed briefly, then wiped his wrist over Steve’s neck.

 

“It’s hardly a few weeks,” Steve insisted.

 

“Just a few weeks,” Bucky said.

 

Steve pushed Bucky away. He clenched his jaw and swallowed a heavy lump in his throat. Bucky, with one last brush of his knuckle against Steve’s cheek, turned away. Peggy touched Steve’s shoulder, but didn’t seem to have anything to say. She followed Bucky out the door and Steve shut it behind them, locking it as well.

 

For a few minutes, he just stood there. Steve let his head rest against the frosted glass, doing the breathing exercises Doc had given him to keep his blood pressure down. He reached up and swiped the tears off his cheeks angrily, then pushed off the door and started walking up the stairs.

 

There were so many stairs. Steve’s feet were hurting already but halfway up the first half, he was regretting ever buying this house. Bucky would have swooped in and carried Steve up the stairs any other time, except Bucky was on his way to Siberia now.

 

Steve finally made it up to the third floor, huffing a little with his ankles protesting. He went to flip off the hallway light and spotted Rebecca standing in his and Bucky’s doorway with her bunny hanging from under her elbow.

 

“Mama?” Rebecca called, her voice trembling. “Can’t find Papa.”

 

“Oh, no,” Steve mumbled. 

 

Rebecca’s chin quivered. Steve hastened forward and squatted to scoop her up. Rebecca nuzzled into his neck as Steve carried her inside his bedroom and set her on the edge of his and Bucky’s bed. Steve smoothed her dark curls and gave her a tight smile.

 

“Sweetie,” he said gently, “Papa had to go away for a while, remember?”

 

“Can’t find Papa,” Rebecca repeated in a whine. “Mama, I had a bad dweam! I can’t find Papa!”

 

“Papa’s not here right now,” Steve said again. “But he won’t be gone, long, okay? Just a little while.”

 

Rebecca whimpered quietly. “Want Papa,” she said pitifully.

 

“You can sleep with me tonight,” Steve told her quickly. “Is that better?”

 

“Want Papa,” Rebecca mumbled again.

 

Steve sighed and kissed the top of Rebecca’s head. “Why don’t you get settled, okay, sweetheart? I’m gonna get changed for bed.”   
  


“Want Papa,” Rebecca just said again.

 

“He’ll be home soon,” Steve told her tiredly.

 

Rebecca was curled up on Bucky’s side of the bed when Steve left the bathroom, washed up and dressed for bed. Steve crawled in behind her and pulled her close to him. Rebecca twisted around, cradling her bunny between them, and rubbed her face against his chest.

 

“Mama’s here,” Steve murmured to Rebecca. “It’s okay, baby.”

 

“Had a bad dweam,” Rebecca whimpered.

 

“You wanna tell me about it?” Steve asked her.

 

“Papa go away,” Rebecca said quietly. “An’ he di’nit come back.”

 

Steve winced and mouthed  _ Fuck! _ “Well,” he sighed, “he’s coming back, I promise, sweetie.”

 

“When’s Papa coming back?” Rebecca asked.

 

“Only a little while,” Steve insisted. “He’ll be back before the baby’s born.”

 

“When’s baby coming?” Rebecca asked, cheering up.

 

Steve tapped her on the nose and she giggled. “Only a little while,” Steve said with a forced smile. “We’ll hardly even notice, sweetheart.”

 

Rebecca snuggled down into Steve’s chest, sticking her thumb in her mouth. Steve reached back and grabbed a pacifier off the nightstand, then gently pried Rebecca’s thumb from her mouth and replaced it with the pacifier. She was already asleep.

 

Steve hardly slept. The night drug on and on, and when someone rang the bell around six in the morning, he was relieved. He slipped away from Rebecca’s still sleeping form and threw on a bathrobe – Bucky’s – and his slippers, then gently lifted Rebecca out of the bed and tucked her against his hip. She sniffed and rubbed her cheek against him in her sleep as he carried her out of the room. Steve patted her back, yawning, and made his exhausted way down the stairs.

 

Steve undid the locks and Rebecca fussed a little. He paused to push her pacifier back into her mouth since it had slipped loose, then opened the front door.

 

Steve blinked at the sight of George and Winifred Barnes on his doorstep. Mr. Barnes’s eyes widened and his mouth fell open comically. Mrs. Barnes slowly covered the lower half of her face with her mitten covered hands. Steve continued to blink.

 

“Good morning,” Peggy greeted Steve. She leaned in and dropped a kiss onto Rebecca’s temple. “We should get out of the cold before this looks too suspicious.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _ayyyy it's the mother in law_


	24. Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _today has been the longest day in the history of long days, y'all. yes, winifred and george are around and causing problems, so let's get back to the drama_

**_[october 9th, 1949]_ **

 

Steve blinked sightlessly at Mrs. Barnes. Mrs. Barnes let her hands drop slowly from her mouth. Her eyes were huge, bugging out of her lined and aged face. Her jowls quivered as her breathing quickened. Steve hardly moved.

 

“Steve?” Peggy questioned. “Are you alright?”

 

Steve took a deep breath. “No,” he said. “No, Peggy, I am not alright.”

 

Steve turned on his heel and marched into the kitchen. He put Rebecca in her high chair, then turned and started making coffee. A beat passed. Steve’s hands shook as he grabbed the coffee pot off the stove. He heard Peggy’s heels in the hallway, as well as two other sets of footsteps, heavy work boots and timid Penny loafers. Steve slammed the pot into the sink to fill it, wishing he could scoop coffee into the filter more aggressively. 

 

“Steve?” Peggy called quietly behind him.

 

Steve dropped the filter back into the pot and slammed it onto the stove. He grabbed the matchbook and struck one, flicked on the gas and lit it in a small poof of flame. He threw the match into the sink, then grabbed the edges of the counter and stove and let out an angry huff of breath.

 

“Steve?” Peggy repeated.

 

Steve jerked around and made eye contact with Bucky's mother. Mrs. Barnes looked like she had seen the face of God and knew she was going to Hell.

 

Steve stared her down. Mr. Barnes turned away and shook his head almost sadly. Mrs. Barnes grimaced. Steve pushed off the counter and crossed the distance between him and Mrs. Barnes and he stared at her for a second. She looked like she felt ill. Steve tightened his lips, scrunched up his nose in disgust, then he reared back and just punched her square in the face.

 

“Steve!” Peggy gasped. “What the – What on Earth are you doing!”

 

“You sick  _ blyad! _ ” Steve spat in Mrs. Barnes’s face as she stumbled backward, clutching her nose. “ _ Ty bol’naya suka! _ I’ve wanted to do that for  _ years! _ Years!”

 

“Steve!” Peggy shouted.

 

Steve jerked his fists back up. Peggy grabbed him by the shoulders and yanked him back several feet. Rebecca abruptly started wailing and Steve spun around on his toes automatically, hurrying to the high chair and lifting her up into his arms. He shushed her gently, bouncing her on his hip. Rebecca’s wailing dimmed to whimpers and Steve jerked his gaze around to glare at Mrs. Barnes again.

 

“Yannow,” he began quietly, “I always wondered what it would feel like to look into the eyes of a liar so cold-hearted they could tell their fifteen-year-old son he’s a rapist.”

 

Peggy’s eyes bugged out and she whipped around to gawk at Mrs. Barnes. “You did  _ what? _ ”

 

“I was  _ trying _ to protect my son!” Mrs. Barnes spoke up at last. She threw an angry finger in Steve’s face, her eyes crazy. “ _ You _ ripped him away from his family! We have been grieving him for  _ four years! _ ”

 

“Do you know  _ why _ he never told you he was alive?” Steve snapped. “Because you told him he was a rapist! Do you know the kinda  _ der’mo _ he went through because of your  _ trakhal vverkh _ thinking!”

 

“What the hell are you even saying?” Mrs. Barnes demanded. “What is  _ trackal? _ ” she repeated clumsily.

 

“I’m cussing in Russian because we don’t want the baby to learn it in English!” Steve angrily shouted back.

 

“Trakhal,” Rebecca repeated more proficiently than her grandmother.

 

“Shit,” Steve hissed. “Peggy?”

 

“Oh, yes, of course,” Peggy answered flusteredly, stepping forward and taking Rebecca from him. “I’ll just duck into the lounge, shall I?” she asked as she flicked up her eyebrows.

 

“Thank you,” Steve sighed. “If she starts crying, run upstairs and grab her bunny from the master bedroom, it’s on the third floor, second door on the right.”

 

“What do I do if that doesn’t work?” Peggy asked.

 

“Uh, bounce her a couple times?” Steve suggested with a shrug.

 

“That seems unlikely to work,” Peggy pointed out.

 

Rebecca started to whimper. Peggy looked at Steve with panic.

 

“Okay, yannow what, never mind,” Steve sighed, reaching out again; Rebecca leaned out of Peggy’s arms and made grabby hands as she started to really cry. “It’s okay,” Steve murmured, lifting Rebecca out of Peggy’s arms and bouncing her as she continued to whine. “It’s okay, sweetheart,” Steve cooed, “it’s okay, wha’s the matter, baby?”

 

“Don’ wike tha’ lady,” Rebecca whimpered. “Mama, she scawy.”

 

Steve sucked in a breath through his teeth and looked out the corner of his eye towards the dirty snakes that had caused all of this. Rebecca didn’t mean  _ Ant Peppy _ and they all knew it. Steve  _ really _ wanted to say that Rebecca had an  _ excellent _ point, that Winifred Barnes was the most disgusting, gruesome horror he’d ever seen in his life and he’d seen horny Nazis, but, it would be irresponsible to tell his frightened two-year-old that she should be afraid of her grandmother.

 

“Yannow what?” Mr. Barnes said abruptly. He tugged off his hat and turned to face Mrs. Barnes. “I’m not doing this anymore. Our  _ granddaughter _ is afraid of us.”

 

“But –” Mrs. Barnes started.

 

“No!” Mr. Barnes snapped. 

 

He held out a hand to her, then turned and faced Steve instead, his hand still outstretched like he was holding off an angry gorilla. Steve liked thinking of his mother-in-law as an angry gorilla. It dehumanized her.

 

“Steve,” Mr. Barnes began in an almost apologetic tone, if heartless monsters like him could be apologetic, “I’m sorry.”

 

Steve squinted at Mr. Barnes distrustingly. “Yeah,” he scoffed, “you’re sorry. Like that means  _ der’mo, _ ” he snapped.

 

“I don’t know what dermmo means,” Mr. Barnes admitted. “But it’s very impressive that you’ve learned Russian to avoid swearing in English in front of your daughter. I had to make up nonsense words and Becca still said the F word before she said  _ Dada. _ ”

 

“I didn’t –” Steve started to explain that he’d already known Russian expletives and it had been Bucky’s idea to use them instead of English ones, but cut himself off in an angry huff. “Never mind, forget it. What are you even doing here?”

 

“Agent Carter found us,” Mr. Barnes said. “She said Bucky was alive and he was on a top-secret mission for the Feds, but he’d left his Omega home alone and pregnant alone with a toddler already and that you needed help.”

 

Steve turned to face Peggy. He raised his eyebrows.

 

“You thought I needed help?” he repeated.

 

“You’re an abruptly single mother with a toddler and you’re due to have another baby in January!” Peggy said exasperatedly. “You could stand to have a few extra hands.”

 

“I asked Wanda to come stay with me until Bucky got home!” Steve snapped. “She’s real excited about getting out of the house for a while! I had a plan, Peggy!”

 

“But…” Peggy mumbled. “Your parents-in-law…”

 

“Didn’t the fact that Bucky never told them he was alive clue you into the fact that we don’t like them?” Steve hissed.

 

“What – No!” Peggy snapped, abruptly flustered. “You shouldn’t be telling anyone you’re alive! Regardless of familial connection!” she said insistently. “That was the point moving you to bloody Canada!”

 

Steve gave pause. He grimaced a little. Peggy put her fists on her hips and looked at him with disappointment in her eyes.

 

“You told someone,” she accused.

 

“Okay, the Romanoffs figured it out on their own!” Steve said quickly. “And Bucky’s squad accidentally found him working in the garage because Dernier said something in French French that was offensive in Canadian French and Pa’s is the only place in town that advertises speaking English, it’s a very good marketing tactic,” he added, “we get all the tourists –”

 

“Steve!” Peggy interrupted. “How many people total?”   


 

Steve did a quick headcount. “Well, the Howlies all know, that’s nine people. And the family…”

 

“Ohmygod,” Peggy whispered under her breath. She pinched the bridge of her nose and exhaled sharply. “Steve, just don’t tell anyone else.”

 

“I don’t think the kids know?” Steve guessed with a shrug. “Nobody younger than Wanda and Pietro knows, at least, they’re both gonna be sixteen in February.”

 

“Don’t tell anyone else,” Peggy insisted again. “The Nazis still want your head. Oh –” she snapped her fingers “–  you are also legally dead. By the way.”

 

“I am?” Steve questioned, a little confused. “Or Roger Smith?”

 

“Both,” Peggy answered. “You died of tuberculosis in ‘41 and Roger Smith died of a drug overdose in ‘46.”

 

“A drug overdose?” Steve spluttered.

 

Peggy shrugged. “Seemed plausible. I thought about having you murdered by some drunk John, but then I considered that a murder would require a much bigger paper trail and, no offense, darling, but nobody cares about overdoses or prostitutes who die of them.”

 

“I mean –” Steve started.

 

“Prostitute!” Mrs. Barnes screeched.

 

Rebecca let out a loud whimper and clapped her hands over her ears. Steve started bouncing her as he locked his jaw. Peggy grimaced. Steve glared at her, then turned again and fixed his glare on Mrs. Barnes instead.

 

“Prostitute,” Steve affirmed sharply.

 

“What –” Mrs. Barnes started, blubbering pathetically in her horrified confusion. “You –” she spluttered while Mr. Barnes blinked on like some simpering buffoon. “But –” Mrs. Barnes whimpered.

 

Steve drew his crooked spine into one long, rigid line. “Yeah,” he spat. “As I’m sure you’re aware, it’s kinda hard to hold a living wage as an Omega. An unmarried, disabled, Irish,  _ male _ Omega?” Steve demanded. “Are you  _ kidding _ me, lady?” he asked angrily while Mrs. Barnes slowly turned purple. “There wasn’t a job in the world I could’a held down!”

 

“You could have chosen other options!” Mrs. Barnes blustered.

 

“What options?” Steve yelled at her. “I tried the  _ yeblya _ mafia,  _ Winifred! _ ” he spat out her given name disrespectfully, refusing to treat her with any form of formality. “But all they were gonna make me do was the exact same thing! Only they’d take half the money and force me to be a personal whore while I was there!”

 

As Steve began his tirade in earnest, Rebecca whimpered again.

 

“Oh, no, shush,” Steve cut himself off, spinning around to face away from Winifred while he bounced Rebecca gently on his hip. “Shh, it’s okay, it’s okay, sweetheart, it’s okay.”

 

Rebecca circled her arms around Steve’s neck and clung to him, rubbing her cheek against his shoulder. Steve shushed her again, brushing her hair out of her face.

 

“Do you want me to take her?” Peggy asked him.

 

“No,” Steve said quickly, rotating on the spot to face her. “She’s upset because she had a bad dream last night about Bucky not coming home.”

 

“He’ll come home,” Peggy promised. “I have a few contacts keeping an eye on him. It’ll be fine.”

 

“Papa,” Rebecca mumbled sadly.

 

“Shh,” Steve said again, turning away from Peggy. “Papa’ll be home real soon, okay, baby? It’s all gonna be okay. Mama’s here?”   


 

“I want Papa!” Rebecca shouted abruptly. “I WANT PAPA–AAA–AAAH!”

 

“Sweetheart –” Steve started to scold.

 

Rebecca flat out started screaming. Steve’s hissed expletive in English was covered up by the sound of his toddler screaming at the top of her lungs. He bounced her, he petted her hair, he tried shushing her, Rebecca kept wailing. 

 

“Sweetheart, please!” Steve tried yelling over her.

 

“Let me try!” Mr. Barnes cut in. 

 

“No!” Steve snapped, jerking back and shielding his daughter from Mr. Barnes. “Stay away from my daughter!”

 

“PAAA–AAA–AAA!” Rebecca shrieked.

 

“Please, I can help,” Mr. Barnes insisted. “I only want to help you, Steve!”

 

“PAAA–AAA–AAA–AAA–AAA–AAA–AAA!” Rebecca screamed as she started kicking her hands and feet.

 

Steve’s head started ringing. Rebecca was screaming directly into his ear, her voice shrill and miserable and it put his teeth on edge.

 

“Fine!” Steve sighed angrily.

 

Steve passed Rebecca to Mr. Barnes. Mr. Barnes tucked one arm under Rebecca’s nappy and balanced her against his beer gut, his other hand steadying her back. Steve hovered, hands clasped under his chin and ready to snatch his daughter back at any second as Mr. Barnes started bouncing her. Rebecca continued to wail, then Mr. Barnes abruptly puffed up his cheeks and went cross-eyed. 

 

Rebecca’s wailing halted in a confused hiccup. Mr. Barnes stuck out his tongue and blew a small raspberry. Rebecca giggled. Steve’s jaw dropped. 

 

“There!” Mr. Barnes said happily. “Isn’t that better, little snapper?”

 

Steve stepped closer, almost in awe. Rebecca grinned and stuck her hand in her mouth, the other she waved around excitedly. She squealed around her hand and bounced herself in Mr. Barnes’s arms. Steve didn’t believe it.

 

“Can I –?” Mr. Barnes started, glancing at Steve. He raised his eyebrows hopefully. “Could I keep holding her?”

 

Steve bit his lip. Mr. Barnes’s face fell. He nodded and adjusted Rebecca to pass her back over. Steve moved to take her.

 

“No!” Rebecca cried suddenly, grabbing onto Mr. Barnes. “Pa!”

 

“No!” Steve said quickly. “No, that’s not Pa, sweetie, that’s  _ Grand _ pa!”

 

“I’m a grandpa!” Mr. Barnes whispered happily. 

 

Steve tightened his lips and resisted the urge to scowl while Mr. Barnes made another silly face at Rebecca. 

 

“I’m your grandpa, sweetie!” Mr. Barnes said again with a wide grin.

 

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” Steve interrupted sharply.

 

He tucked his hands under Rebecca’s arms, taking her back while Mr. Barnes’s face fell again. She whined and leaned back towards Mr. Barnes, so Steve hastily puffed up his cheeks at her and Rebecca’s attention was redirected; she giggled and grabbed his face.

 

“Mama silly,” Rebecca said, squishing Steve’s cheeks. “Silly Mama, silly Mama!”

 

“Mama  _ is _ silly,” Steve told her quickly. “But you know who’s sillier? Aunt Peggy!”

 

Peggy made a confused noise across the room. Steve gave her a  _ Zip it! _ look, then gestured with his eyebrows towards the back door. This was going to dissolve into shouting again and Steve didn’t want Rebecca hearing it. 

 

Peggy huffed, probably incensed about being called  _ silly, _ but moved forward and took the baby from Steve. When Rebecca whined, Peggy hastily dropped her mouth into a small  _ O _ and crossed her eyes in an expression that cut off the tantrum about to start. Peggy shot Steve a nod, then turned on her heel and marched out of the kitchen door. She pulled it shut firmly behind her and Steve watched through the window over the stove as Peggy headed for the playset Bucky had built with help from Dominik and Grigory about a year ago. 

 

Steve bit his lip a little, watching Peggy set Rebecca on the tin slide and help her go down it. Rebecca shrieked with laughter outside and Steve stood inside, facing off with the Barneses.

 

Steve crossed his arms over his belly and turned to face his parents-in-law again. He glared at both of them and said nothing. Mr. Barnes shifted nervously. Mrs. Barnes looked at her feet, her expression mildly constipated. Steve said nothing.

 

“We’re sorry,” Mr. Barnes spoke up. “At least, I’m sorry. I am so incredibly sorry.”

 

“Save your breath!” Steve snapped. “You’re gonna go back where you came from and hopefully my daughter won’t ever remember you turning up. Our cover is that Bucky and I were both raised in an orphanage, and that is all that she will ever know!”

 

Mr. Barnes looked hurt. Steve was glad.

 

“Steve,” Mrs. Barnes sighed. “Dear, you really do need help.”

 

“But I don’t need it from you!” Steve snarled right back. He dropped his stance and strode forward, throwing a finger into her face. “I don’t need help from a pair of no-good, dirty rotten liars who would rather traumatize and manipulate their  _ child _ for life rather than let him love a girl-boy!”

 

“That wasn’t why we kept you apart!” Mrs. Barnes gasped.

 

“You can’t fool me!” Steve retorted. “Why else would it have been?”

 

“Because I didn’t want you to have to love each other in secret!” Mrs. Barnes claimed.

 

Steve scoffed in Mrs. Barnes’s face. “Admit it,” he said. “You don’t think I’m good enough for your son. You never have.”

 

“That’s not true!” Mrs. Barnes said quickly, grabbing Steve’s hand.

 

“Don’t touch me!” Steve hissed, jerking his wrist from her grip. He doubled his glare on her and took a quick step backward, wiping his hand off on the hem of his bathrobe. “You disgust me,” Steve spat.

 

“Steve, please,” Mr. Barnes threw in.

 

“No!” Steve snapped. He threw his arm out, ramrod straight, to point towards the front door. “Get out and never look back. Bucky may not really be dead, but you are dead to  _ him! _ ”

 

“I am his mother!” Mrs. Barnes said shrilly.

 

“You told him he raped me!” Steve screamed in her face. “Do you know what kinda a mess he was when he found me again because of that? Do you know how scared he is to this  _ day _ because of that? Do you?” he challenged.

 

“I didn’t mean to let it go so far!” Mrs. Barnes tried to say.

 

“Save it!” Steve snapped. “Get out!”   


 

“Steve,” Mr. Barnes said, approaching.

 

“How many times do I have to tell you?” Steve demanded from him. He gave Mr. Barnes a hard shove to the chest, making him take a couple of stumbling steps back in surprise. “I don’t want you around my daughter even a second longer, you might poison her mind like you did to your son!”

 

“I didn’t mean to let him believe that it was rape!” Mrs. Barnes snapped back. “I wanted him to think that we had to go because the strain of your heat was too much for you and that your mother was angry with him, but I never meant for him to think it was rape! I tried to convince him it wasn’t, but he knew you weren’t capable of consenting in heat and he backed himself into a corner!”

 

“None of it would’a happened if ya hadn’t lied to him in the first place!” Steve screamed.

 

“We had to keep him away from you!” Mrs. Barnes shouted back. “He was already in love with you, Steve, it would have just spiraled! What would’ve happened if you tried to be together? Do you understand?” she demanded, taking a step forward and Steve quickly backed up, but Mrs. Barnes glared him down. “Did you understand?” she asked again. “You were children! You would’ve focused on what you wanted and damned be the consequences!”

 

“There were other solutions!” Steve insisted.

 

“We acted rashly!” Mrs. Barnes snapped. Steve drew back, taken by surprise. Mrs. Barnes gave a nod. “Yes,” she said. “I admit it, we did act rashly.”

 

“ _ You _ acted rashly,” Mr. Barnes cut in. 

 

Steve and Mrs. Barnes turned on him sharply. Mr. Barnes stood up straight and turned away from his wife a little, stepping back as though to take Steve’s side.

 

“It was  _ your _ idea,” Mr. Barnes accused. “I wanted to stay and figure things out as they went along.  _ You _ insisted we move away. You insisted we lie to our son. You said it was the only way and I never questioned you. I regret nothing more than not standing up to you, Winifred. Steve is right. Bucky was way too young to have any of that put on his shoulders and we did it anyway!” he concluded in an angry hiss. “And look what it’s doing now! We have a granddaughter, Winifred!” Mr. Barnes said, clapping his hands together like an appeal as Mrs. Barnes stood up straighter, too. “A granddaughter!” he whispered. “And our son-in-law is too hurt by what your rash actions and fears from seventeen years ago to let us be grandparents!”

 

“I only wanted to protect Bucky,” Mrs. Barnes said quietly.

 

“I know we would’a faced discrimination,” Steve retorted angrily. “I saw it without Bucky anyway! We could’a put up with it! We could’a survived!”

 

“And what about your daughter?” Mrs. Barnes snapped. “What would you have done when you got pregnant?”

 

“I had to take Uncle Sam’s failed super soldier serum in order to have kids!” Steve snapped. “Because after you left, my health plummeted!”

 

“Bond sickness,” Mr. Barnes said, turning to look at Mrs. Barnes with his hands on his hips. “We put poor Stevie through bond sickness and they weren’t even properly bonded.”

 

“Then maybe if we had stayed, you wouldn’t have been so sickly,” Mrs. Barnes claimed; Steve rolled his eye and scoffed, but Mrs. Barnes was undaunted. “And then you  _ would _ have gotten pregnant, and what would you have done then?”   
  


“I don’t know,” Steve snapped. “We’d’ve handled it –”

 

“You would have been thrown in the looney bin!” Mrs. Barnes shrieked. “And Bucky would’ve been  _ arrested  _ for raping you! That’s what they  _ do _ to Omegas who don’t marry who they should and that’s what they do to the men they try to love!”

 

“We would’a figured something out!” Steve claimed.

 

“It wouldn’t have been worth the risk!” Mrs. Barnes countered.

 

“Yes, it would’ve!” Steve insisted.

 

“No, it isn’t!” Mrs. Barnes said shrilly.

 

Steve set his jaw. Mrs. Barnes blinked several times, her eyelashes glistening, then she turned away and reached up and swiped at her cheeks. Mr. Barnes sighed.

 

“We shouldn’t’ve handled it the way we did,” Mr. Barnes said gently. He turned and looked at Steve with a frank sorrow in his lined and shadowed eyes. “But we did. And there’s nothing any of us can do to change it by standing around here screaming at each other.”

 

“Makes me feel a helluva a lot better,” Steve grumbled, crossing his arms over his belly again.

 

“It can’t be good for your baby,” Mr. Barnes pointed out.

 

Steve grabbed his belly and glared distrustingly at him, stepping back several paces. “What did Peggy tell you?” he demanded. “The baby’s fine! He’s fine!”

 

His voice cracked, though. Mrs. Barnes whipped around, her face streaked by her tears, and she gasped.

 

“Oh,  _ Steve, _ ” she whispered. “ _ Steve! _ ”

 

“I’m fine!” Steve snapped. “Fine!”

 

He turned away from them quickly, smoothing both his hands up and down his bump. “You’re fine,” he whispered down to his stomach. He petted his belly until he felt the baby squirming in protest and let out a sigh of relief. His frantic petting calmed and Steve finally noticed the percolator boiling. He crossed to the stove and flicked off the gas, then just stood there, having no idea what to do now.

 

“Steve?” Mrs. Barnes said quietly behind him. “Should we – Shall we sit?”

 

“No!” Steve snapped, jerking around again. “We’re not sitting because you’re leaving! You’re leaving and you’re never coming back!”   


 

“Please,” Mrs. Barnes said. “We are sorry.”

 

Mr. Barnes shot her a look. Mrs. Barnes sighed.

 

“ _ I, _ ” she said instead, “am sorry. I made a mistake. A huge mistake and it’s lead to years of trouble and heartache. I would like nothing better than to do right my wrongs. Let us help.”

 

“I don’t need your help,” Steve hissed. “I don’t need it and I don’t want it!”

 

“Then –” Mrs. Barnes started, sounding hopeless.  _ Good, _ Steve thought. “Then what about your mother?” Mrs. Barnes asked.

 

Steve stiffened. He looked away and cupped his stomach in his hands again.

 

“She’s dead,” he said bluntly. “Tuberculosis, nine years ago.”

 

“Oh,” Mrs. Barnes whispered. “Oh.”

 

“You would’a known if I had an address to send a funeral invitation to,” Steve added. “And there would’a been a funeral if I had enough money to pay for it. But I didn’t and I didn’t know where youse were.”

 

“We were in Queens,” Mrs. Barnes murmured.

 

“Bucky told me,” Steve replied coldly. “Leave already. You’re getting toadspawn and bats’ wings everywhere, Winifred.”

 

Mrs. Barnes glared at him. Steve jerked a little in her direction and she flinched, then quickly drew herself back up.

 

“You should be grateful!” she snapped in a hurt tone.

 

“Grateful?” Steve repeated, then scoffed. “That you’re sticking your warty nose where it doesn’t belong? Let me get a bucket of water, maybe that will help!”

 

“You little –!” Mrs. Barnes started.

 

“Let me help,”  Mr. Barnes said abruptly. “Winifred can go back to Queens. Let me stay and help out, Steve.”

 

“What?” Steve said flatly.

 

“George!” Mrs. Barnes gasped.

 

“I’ll swallow my damn pride!” Mr. Barnes snapped. “I want to be a part of my granddaughter’s life!”

 

“I don’t want you part of her life!” Steve insisted.

 

“Steve, you need to know something,” Mr. Barnes started.

 

“George!” Mrs. Barnes snapped again.

 

“He deserves to know!” Mr. Barnes retorted. “He and Bucky both deserve to know the real truth, Winifred!”

 

“George!” Winifred hissed as Mr. Barnes turned to face Steve again.

 

“Bucky isn’t my son,” Mr. Barnes said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _ooh, even more drama. i'll be honest with you, i don't feel like adding the translations for steve's russian cursing. it's probably all variants of fuck or fuck you. see you next week!_


	25. Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _ok so first steve and winifred keep arguing and both of them talk about some graphic things, so beware. after that is softness. smol child is smol and cute._

**_[october 9th 1949]_ **

 

Steve stared at Mr. Barnes, his mouth slightly open. Mrs. Barnes glared at the linoleum floor. She was probably judging its faintly yellow color, but it had been that way when they’d bought the house and Steve thought it complemented the blue sideboard and wallpaper nicely! 

 

“Bucky isn’t my son,” Mr. Barnes repeated. “His father is one of my cousins. I only met Winifred through him and by then, Bucky was already born.”

 

“But –” Steve started, confused. He shook himself. “What does this have to do with me and Bucky?”

 

“My cousin was a Beta,” Mr. Barnes added. “Quite a few of my cousins were, our clan had more Beta men than Alphas.”

 

Mrs. Barnes continued to glare at the linoleum. Steve looked somewhat off to Mr. Barnes’s right, then shuffled on the spot until he was facing Mrs. Barnes.

 

“So,” he said quietly, “you’re angry about me and Bucky being queer when you’re queer, too!”

 

“I’m not angry that you’re queer!” Mrs. Barnes snapped. “I was never angry and it was never about that! I thought it was best to keep you two separated for the reasons I stated, eventually Steve, you would’ve been locked up in an insane asylum and Bucky would’ve been lucky if he hanged for being with you! You know what they do to queers!”

 

“I know!” Steve replied loudly. “I was a professional!”

 

Mrs. Barnes scoffed. Steve jerked forward, his fists raising, and Mr. Barnes jumped in between the two of them.

 

“Let’s not be hasty!” he said. “It’s what got us into this mess to begin with!”

 

“I’d  _ love _ to be hasty,” Steve growled. “I’d love to break ya ugly nose, Winifred!”   


 

“Winifred, apologize!” Mr. Barnes snapped.

 

“What?” Steve and Mrs. Barnes said at the same time.

 

“You heard me,” Mr. Barnes snapped to his wife. “Haven’t you done enough?”

 

Steve regained his composure quickly and crossed his arms over his chest. Mrs. Barnes scowled at Mr. Barnes, then when he didn’t relent, she sighed and turned away, shaking her head.

 

“She can go back to New York,” Mr. Barnes said quickly to Steve. “But I’d like to get to know your daughter, Steve. I’d like a chance to be her grandpa.”

 

“But…” Steve mumbled, suddenly confused. “You’re not…?”

 

“Bucky isn’t my son by blood, sure,” Mr. Barnes admitted, “but I’m his pa. That makes his kids my grandbabies.”

 

“What about Rebecca?” Steve asked abruptly. “Is she –?”   


 

“My daughter, yes,” Mr. Barnes answered.

 

Steve glanced at Mrs. Barnes. “I’m confused,” he said.

 

“I don’t like talking about it,” Mrs. Barnes snapped.

 

“What, that you left your Beta husband for an Alpha and ran off to New York?” Steve asked sharply. “What part of it are you more embarrassed by, the fact that you’re queer or that you ran off with another man?”

 

“The part where the man I loved but wasn’t allowed to marry nearly killed me out of anger!” Mrs. Barnes snapped, whipping around. “That part, Steven!”

 

Steve dropped his glare. He straightened his crooked spine, now looking at Mrs. Barnes evenly while she looked him down with her own anger instead.

 

“Because he kept being arrested for living with an Omega, he turned to drink,” Mrs. Barnes snapped. “And he became a raging drunk and he beat me! I barely kept him off my son! One night he finally beat me so hard, I gave birth to stillborn twin girls! You’ll forgive me if I dislike talking about any part of it!”

 

Mrs. Barnes ended abruptly, a little out of breath. Mr. Barnes looked sorry that the poor woman had to relive it, but Steve wasn’t moved.

 

“So you think you’re special,” Steve said coldly.

 

“Special –!” Mrs. Barnes screeched.

 

“Did Peggy tell you about how I was a spy?” Steve cut her off. “Did she tell you about Dr. Schmidt? Who got  _ off _ on beating me? Who fucking  _ loved _ punching my teeth bloody and then fucking my throat!” 

 

Mrs. Barnes flinched. Mr. Barnes looked frankly horrified. Steve wasn’t done.

 

“Did she tell you about how after you lied  _ Bucky  _ about raping me, I actually  _ did _ get raped? And paid for it after like it was no big deal! Nineteen years old!” he screamed. “A drunk shoved me into an alley and knocked me down and dropped five bucks on me after with his spunk still leaking out of me!” 

 

Mrs. Barnes opened her mouth.

 

“Do you think you’re any different than the rest of us?” Steve continued in a snarl. “Do you think that  _ your _ sob story gives you the right to manipulate kids like that! Do you wanna compare abuse stories, Winifred, ‘cause I got a fuckton! Here!” he snarled, yanking up his sleeve to show her the inside of his forearm and the circular scars dotting his skin.

 

She drew back from it, but Steve shoved the scars in her face anyway.

 

“Those are from cigarettes! And this!” he shoved his right hand in her face, showing her where his pinky stuck out to one side. “That’s from a boot! And Schmidt forced me to starve myself and by the time Bucky found me, I barely weighted eighty pounds! I’ve got more!”

 

“I don’t want to compare –” Mrs. Barnes began stiffly.

 

“Then how’s about you walk a mile in my shoes and then you can scoff about my past!” Steve snapped. “You can’t tell me you’re sorry and then wrinkle your nose a second later. Your son  _ married _ this whore,” he snarled, “and I don’t have to put up with you judging me!”

 

“He doesn’t,” Mr. Barnes said quickly to his wife. “Agent Carter did tell us you were fundamental to the resistance effort,” he added quickly to Steve. “However you got there, the war would’ve turned out very differently if it weren’t for you.”

 

“Thank you,” Steve answered him a little sharply. “But I still want both of you to leave.”

 

“Give me a chance?” Mr. Barnes asked hastily. He turned to Steve and cupped his hands together like prayer. “I want to right the wrongs we caused, Steve. Don’t let this go to the fourth generation.”

 

Steve clenched his jaw, then quickly looked away. Father Chebykin had preached on that just last Sunday.

 

“Let me, please, make up for the past,” Mr. Barnes begged. “There’s nothing I can do to change it, but I can do the penance for it. I’ll take the penance, Steve. Please.”

 

Mrs. Barnes sighed, her shoulders dropping. “I’ll do the penance,” she offered, and there was no more heat to her voice now. “I want to make it right, too.”

 

Steve hugged his belly and looked at the drawings hanging on the wall separating the kitchen and the living room. He abruptly felt Bucky’s absence like an anchor hanging around his neck, weighing him down in a wash of sudden guilt. This wasn’t his choice to make. Mr. and Mrs. Barnes hadn’t hurt him nearly as much as they’d hurt Bucky; none of what had happened to Steve was directly their fault, but half of Bucky’s mental scars could be blamed on his parents. It wasn’t his place to forgive either of them. He was tired and missed his Alpha and it wasn’t his decision to make.

 

They were sorry. They wanted to make it up to Bucky, and Steve knew it hurt him to leave his family behind. He didn’t talk about it, but he missed them. And Steve didn’t want to see Bucky hurting for even a second.

 

“Okay,” Steve began reluctantly.

 

“Oh, thank you!” Mr. Barnes sighed, ducking forward as though to hug Steve.

 

“Ah, ah, ah, ah, ah!” Steve cried out; he threw out his hands to block Mr. Barnes and side-stepped around the table, putting a fair bit of distance between them. “Rule one, no touching!”

 

Mr. Barnes dropped his arms and backed up. Mrs. Barnes exhaled slowly and covered her eyes with a single hand.

 

“No touching,” Steve reiterated. “Me or Rebecca.”

 

“Wait, you named her Rebecca?” Mr. Barnes said. He grinned broadly and Steve was given déjà vu so bad it felt like whiplash.

 

“Are you sure you’re not Bucky’s blood parent?” Steve questioned.

 

“Yes,” Mr. Barnes said quickly. 

 

He glanced at Mrs. Barnes and Steve considered perhaps his question was a little insensitive. But Mrs. Barnes just rolled her eyes and waved a hand at them.

 

“It was his cousin, Steven,” she reminded him. “Cousins! They look alike,” she concluded in a mutter.

 

“Sorry,” Steve said reluctantly. He glanced out the window again, then cleared his throat and stood up straighter. “There’s a guest room on the second floor,” he said. “You can – You can put your things up there.”

 

Steve pushed past Mr. Barnes. “Excuse me,” he said, pulling open the back door.

 

He headed straight for the playset, where Peggy was pushing Rebecca on a swing. Peggy looked up as he neared and Rebecca noticed only when she didn’t get pushed again.

 

“Mama!” Rebecca said excitedly as Steve walked up and lifted her out of the swing. “Mama, are you sad?”

 

Steve opened his mouth and immediately faltered, having no clue what to say or do to that. Peggy walked around the swings to stand at his side and Rebecca looks between them.

 

“Mama?” Rebecca asked, her voice confused.

 

Steve glanced at Peggy, who just nodded and headed back inside. Steve adjusted Rebecca on his hip and walked back to the patio with her. Rebecca frowned as Steve sat at the patio table and put her on his knee.

 

“I did no-no?” Rebecca asked.

 

“No, sweetie,” Steve said quickly. “But –” he started, then found himself stalling as he looked for a way to explain everything. “But those people Aunt Peppy brought did,” he said. “They did a bad no-no a long time ago.”

 

Rebecca blinked innocently at him. Steve sighed and brushed at her hair with a hand as he searched for the right words.

 

Rebecca was still innocent in all of this. The pain and anger that had come out of all the lies Steve and Bucky’s parents told back in 1933 hadn’t yet hurt Rebecca, and Steve would do anything to see that those lies didn’t cause pain all the way to the fourth generation. If Bucky’s parents had never showed up, perhaps they could have avoided some of it, but they were here now and Steve had some explaining to do.

 

He only hoped that Bucky could forgive them when he got home. He wanted Bucky to have his parents back.

 

“Those people are Papa’s parents,” Steve told Rebecca. “They’re your grandma and grandpa.”

 

Rebecca frowned. “I got a grandpa, Mama,” she insisted. “Papa ‘Manov!”

 

Steve broke into a light smile and tapped Rebecca’s nose. “You have  _ two _ grandpas, sweetheart,” he said. “Papa Romanoff and – And the Grandpa that you just met. Grandpa and Grandma.”

 

“She yells a lot,” Rebecca remarked.

 

“Yes,” Steve said cautiously. “But… I yelled a lot, too.”   


 

“Why?” Rebecca asked, tipping her head to the side in the same way Bucky would do as she frowned adorably at Steve. It made him smile a little.

 

“Some not nice things happened a long time ago,” Steve said. “And it’s been a long time since Papa or me talked to Grandma and Grandpa because of it, so everyone’s a little bit hurt by it. But it’s all okay now,” he added quickly, “Papa and I are going to forgive them and they’re going to stay with us while Papa’s gone. Okay?”

 

“What not nice?” Rebecca pressed.

 

Steve hesitated, then just sighed. “I’ll tell you when you’re older,” he said.

 

“Okay,” Rebecca said. “Mama, what’s rape?”

 

Steve’s eyes popped and he cleared his throat quickly. “When –”   


 

“I hear good,” Rebecca said, sounding proud of herself. “You yelled it a lot.”

 

“Uh,” Steve said. Rebecca blinked. Steve fought a grimace and smiled stiffly at his daughter instead. “I’ll tell you about it when you’re older, too,” he said.

 

“When’s that?” Rebecca asked.

 

“When Papa comes home,” Steve answered with a sigh, just hoping that Rebecca would forget both questions over the next few months. “Okay?”

 

“Okay,” Rebecca agreed easily. “Mama, I’m hungry.”   


 

“And we’re about to go eat breakfast,” Steve said, shifting Rebecca closer so he could stand up. “And you can meet Grandma and Grandpa properly, okay?”

 

“Okay!” Rebecca answered with a grin that gave Steve déjà vu so bad it felt like whiplash.

 

Steve tucked Rebecca against his hip and steeled himself before walking back into the house. Peggy had Mr. and Mrs. Barnes seated at the kitchen table and cups of coffee distributed among them. There was a mug sitting at Steve’s place at the table, the black coffee in it steaming gently. Steve shut the kitchen door behind him, then hesitated as he glanced between Mr. and Mrs. Barnes.

 

“Hi, Grandma!” Rebecca said before Steve could say a word. “Hi, Grandpa!”   


 

Mrs. Barnes covered her mouth again as her eyes started to shine. Mr. Barnes grinned.

 

“I make excellent eggs and toast,” Peggy spoke up. “Steve, if you’d like to sit down?”

 

Steve sighed and nodded. He walked up to the table and put Rebecca in her high chair, then sat down opposite Mrs. Barnes.

 

“Thank you, Steve,” Mrs. Barnes whispered.

 

“You still have to earn it,” Steve answered her sharply. “And when Bucky comes home…”   


 

He didn’t finish but it appeared that Mr. and Mrs. Barnes understood him fully. Mrs. Barnes nodded gravely, her gaze dropping into her coffee cup, and Mr. Barnes just sighed.

 

“I’m two!” Rebecca announced.

 

“Oh, are you?” Mrs. Barnes said, cheering up instantly. “Can you show me?”

 

Rebecca held up both hands and waved two fingers on each. Steve smiled despite himself.

 

“Wonderful!” Mrs. Barnes sighed with a grin. “You’re a very smart girl, Rebecca.”

 

“I smart ‘cause Mama smart,” Rebecca said, beaming proudly. “Papa say so.”

 

Steve dropped his gaze to the table, his cheeks heating up.

 

“That’s how it goes,” Mrs. Barnes said soberly.

 

Rebecca giggled and covered her mouth. Steve reached up to touch her back, leaning on the table heavily. He was exhausted all of a sudden.

 

“Wanda will be here around eleven,” Steve said to no one in particular.

 

“Do you need anything done?” Mrs. Barnes asked after that. “I could – I could do the laundry or the dusting –”

 

“Not right now,” Steve cut her off, propping his head up with a hand. “Actually,” he sat back, thinking. “You could get the groceries.”   


 

“Of course,” Mrs. Barnes said with a quick nod.

 

Steve gestured behind him to the fridge. “List’s there,” he said. “I’ll give you the keys to Bucky’s truck.”

 

Bucky’s parents exchanged glances. Steve shrugged.

 

“To George,” he said, because of course Winifred couldn’t drive. “You can both go.”   


 

“Of course,” Winifred repeated.

 

Steve was going to call them by their first names. They weren’t adults to respect anymore.

 

“What about church?” Peggy asked.

 

Steve looked at the clock, then over his shoulder at her. “It starts eight,” he said numbly.

 

Peggy was cracking eggs into a frying pan. She did it efficiently, a sharp tap followed by the pinching of her bright red nails, the yellow yolks splashed into the pan and began to sizzle. 

 

Steve was suddenly reminded by a small yolk that Gabriel had barely been that size. He pushed the thought away, but nausea started to prickle in his stomach. Great. He hadn’t had much morning sickness past the first trimester.

 

“There’s plenty of time, we could go,” Peggy offered.

 

Steve glanced out of the corner of his eye at George and Winifred, then let his gaze drop to the linoleum tiles.

 

“No,” he said. “Bucky’s supposed to be sick, I would stay home if – if he really were sick.”

 

“Right,” Peggy answered. She sighed, looking back at the eggs. “I’m sorry.”

 

Steve didn’t say anything. He just leaned his head into his hand and looked down into his mug of coffee. He didn’t feel like touching it. Actually, he was starting to feel more nauseous because of it. He pushed it away.

 

Rebecca reached from her high chair towards him. Steve pushed up from his seat and picked her up, tucking her against his body before carefully lowering himself back down. He bounced her on a knee, resting his cheek against her head. She snuggled against him, her breathing slowing. She wasn’t used to getting up so early, the poor thing.

 

“Does she nap well?” Winifred asked hesitantly.

 

Steve nodded a little. “She tires out easy,” he said softly. Then smiled tightly. “Ma used to say I was like that when I was her age.”

 

“You were,” Winifred answered.

 

Steve nodded one more time, then looked down at Rebecca leaning against his chest. He stood up abruptly, his chair scraping loudly against the floor, but Rebecca didn’t wake up.

 

“I’m gonna put her back to bed,” Steve said. “And – And I’m gonna lie down for a while.”

 

“Okay,” Winifred and Peggy said at the exact same time, in the exact same tone of concern.

 

“We’ll be here,” George added.

 

Steve just nodded to them. He resettled Rebecca on his hip and started back up the stairs. His feet and hips were aching; he’d have to get the hot water bottle out and fill it up. Rebecca was heavy, too, at least for him. Doc told him he should avoid picking up anything heavier than 10 pounds. Rebecca was 25 and a half, but he couldn’t not pick her up.

 

Steve finally got back to his bedroom. It still smelled strongly of Bucky and hopefully would for quite a while; it had been gross, but Bucky had wiped his spunk on the doorways and along the head and footboards and let it dry. Done it twice, to make sure it really lasted. Grigory had told Bucky to do it, said the marks would last about two months. He’d done it for Anya when he’d gone to war and it had kept her sane. She hadn’t been pregnant, though.

 

Steve was just glad he would have that haven with his Alpha’s scent. He laid Rebecca in the bed, then just sat down and leaned against the headboard, where Bucky had rubbed his scent into it, and he just inhaled. He felt miserable. He regretted telling Bucky to go. 

 

Rationally, he knew that Bucky had to, the last thing they wanted was the Soviets getting their hands on Zola’s serum, but it hurt. It hurt so much not to be able to lean back into his arms. Steve felt on edge. Anxious, skittish, like he should be looking over his shoulder every few minutes. Bucky hadn’t even been gone a day.

 

“How’m I s’posed to go through three months of this?” Steve whispered forlornly into the air.

 

The air didn’t answer him, of course. Steve rubbed his cheek against Bucky’s scent-mark, then slipped off his bathrobe and slippers and laid down with his daughter, pulling her against his belly. Rebecca had her thumb in her mouth and Steve gently pulled it free, replacing it with a pacifier. Rebecca turned over and rubbed her face into his breast and stilled, breathing deeply and slowly. Steve hugged her to him and tried not to cry.

 

A few tears leaked out. No one could blame him.

 

He dozed, finally getting to sleep, and the next thing he knew, Rebecca was wriggling around on the bed. Steve blinked his eyes open blearily, lifting a hand to rub at them, and Rebecca squirmed out of his arms.

 

“Wanda’s here, Mama!” she said, bouncing on the bed.

 

“‘Kay,” Steve mumbled, sitting up with a wince; his hips ached, he really needed to get the hot water bottle out. “Le’s go say hi.”

 

Rebecca clapped her hands together and raised her arms. Steve gave in and picked her up, tucking her against his hip. He walked into his slippers and grabbed Bucky’s bathrobe again, then started down the stairs.

 

“ _ Dyadya _ Stepushka?” Wanda called up them. “Are you awake?”

 

“Yeah, I’m up,” Steve answered, yawning through it.

 

Wanda came around the corner and clucked her tongue, immediately taking Rebecca from him. Steve made an appreciative noise and pulled the bathrobe on.

 

“Pietro came, too,” Wanda said, “apparently, he’s useless around the garage without Yasha.”

 

Steve smiled a little. “Bucky did do everything for him, didn’t he?”

 

“I think so,” Wanda replied with a twinkle in her eye. “I think he’s going to go work for  _ dyadya _ Lyon.”

 

“Be good for him,” Steve answered, nodding a little. “Bucky says he remembers numbers well.”

 

Wanda shrugged, then gave him a worried look. “Do you want to go lie down again? I can keep this one busy for a while,” she offered, tickling Rebecca’s stomach and making her squeal.

 

Steve smiled but shook his head. “Are – Is Peggy downstairs?”

 

“Yes, she introduced herself,” Wanda said with a nod. “And she mentioned Yasha’s parents?” she added, frowning again. “I thought you two were raised in an orphanage?”

 

Steve sucked in a breath. “Let’s go talk to Peggy,” he decided, starting down the stairs again.

 

Wanda shrugged and followed him, adjusting Rebecca on her hip. Steve leaned on the railing all the way down to the first floor, deciding that he was definitely getting the hot water bottle out later. He found Peggy and Pietro sitting on the floor of the living room, setting up Monopoly.

 

“This is not going to end well,” Steve declared, announcing his presence at the same time. “I want the dog and if anyone tries to take it from me, I will cry.”

 

Pietro put the dog on the start square with heavily raised eyebrows. Steve lowered himself with difficulty onto the couch, then slid off and landed on the floor.

 

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Peggy asked immediately.

 

“Of course,” Steve said stubbornly. “I’ll just make Bu–”

 

He stopped, out of breath suddenly. Peggy almost winced. Wanda lowered herself onto the floor with Rebecca in her lap and just looked at Steve sorrily.

 

“George,” Steve started over. He cleared his throat, willing back the tears forming in his eyes. “I’ll make George help me up.”

 

“George?” Pietro asked.

 

“George,” Steve repeated firmly. “Bucky’s pa.”

 

“Weren’t his parents dead?” Pietro asked further, glancing at Wanda in confusion.

 

“No, and we’re not from Toronto, either,” Steve said. “My parents are actually dead. But we’re from New York and Bucky’s parents are here while Bucky’s away. George and Winifred.”

 

“That,” Peggy muttered. “Was what I was not going to tell them.”

 

Steve shrugged. “Everyone else knows.”

 

Peggy sighed and covered her face with a hand. Steve just waved at her.

 

“What,” Pietro said flatly.

 

“Is that why  _ dyadya  _ and  _ tetya _ keep saying you’re American?” Wanda asked.

 

“Yeah,” Steve said simply. “Because we’re New Yorkers.”

 

“Why did you lie?” Pietro asked slowly.

 

“It’s their cover,” Peggy spoke up. “They’re in hiding, so, really, none of you should know.”

 

“The rest of them figured it out on their own!” Steve insisted, whacking Peggy gently on the arm. “Maybe you should’a made a bigger fuss ‘bout the papers runnin’ Bucky’s picture so much, huh?”

 

“I did, but there was no reason to keep it from circulating considering myself and Howard are the only SSR operatives to know he’s not dead,” Peggy answered snarkily.

 

“So it’s not our fault!” Steve insisted.

 

“I’m confused,” Pietro threw in.

 

“Oh!” Wanda gasped. “Seriously?”

 

“Yes,” Peggy sighed. “Unfortunately.”

 

“Yasha faked his death!” Wanda gasped again, looking at Steve with wide eyes. “Why?”

 

Steve cleared his throat uncomfortably. “I’ll tell you when you’re older,” he fielded.

 

Wanda scowled. “We’re nearly sixteen, you know.”

 

“But you haven’t presented yet,” Steve insisted, “you’re still babies.”

 

“I still don’t get it,” Pietro said.

 

“Captain America,” Wanda told him. “Yasha is Captain America.”

 

Pietro glanced between her and Steve. “Who?” he pushed.

 

Peggy burst into laughter. Steve let out a little snort and shook his head, shifting on his ass to get more comfortable on the floor. He should’ve stayed on the sofa. Wanda shoved at Pietro’s shoulder.

 

“Only the man who killed Hitler!” she said loudly. “The reason the war ended! Why  _ dyadya _ all got home safe!”

 

“Oh!” Pietro answered. “That guy!”

 

Then he frowned more. “But why did you two have to lie?”

 

“I’ll tell you when you’re older,” Steve said soberly.

 

Pietro scowled. “I hate that I haven’t presented yet,” he grumbled.

 

Rebecca leaned out of Wanda’s lap and tugged on his sleeve. Pietro turned and raised his eyebrows at her and Rebecca patted his nose.

 

“Okay,” she said. “Piet okay.”

 

“Thank you, rybka,” Pietro answered her with a smile.

 

Steve smiled, too. His eyes prickled and he stubbornly sniffed hard, reaching up to rub at his eyes with the back of his hand. Rebecca reached for him and Wanda quickly passed her over; Steve settled her on the floor in front of his belly and rubbed his face into her hair.

 

“You’re a good little bean, Becca,” he murmured. “Mama’s proud of you.”

 

Rebecca grinned up at him and Steve smacked a kiss to her cheek. She squealed and scrambled up to run for safety behind Wanda, who just snatched her up and kissed her, too. Rebecca shrieked with laughter and wriggled out of Wanda’s grip to run at Pietro; Pietro pretended to be knocked down and fell over with her with a loud groan, making Rebecca laugh even more.

 

Steve looked at Peggy, cheek resting on top of Rebecca’s hair. “Where are George and Winifred?” he asked, his voice quiet.

 

“Went round for the groceries,” Peggy answered. “Winifred said she wanted to make Matzo and Challah bread for you.”

 

Steve looked in the other direction. He remembered Winifred’s cooking fondly and just thinking of Matzo ball soup and Challah had his stomach grumbling traitorously. 

 

“Said they’d be back in a couple of hours,” Peggy continued. “Didn’t leave long before you woke up.”

 

Steve nodded absently, looking at the game board. He sat up more properly, clearing his throat, and nodded at Pietro.

 

“Are we playing or not?”

 

The game got going. Rebecca became fascinated with the paper money and Steve quickly put her in charge of the bank. Peggy complained, but Steve was fairly sure that was because she’d been sneaking money from the bank under their noses until Rebecca started paying attention. Of course, ultimately it made it easier for Steve to sneak money himself. It was only fair, everyone else was doing it, too; Steve was just the better cheater.

 

“This is spiraling out of control,” Peggy sighed as Steve bought out the last factory.

 

“It’s nothing personal,” Steve insisted.

 

“I vote we play Go Fish next,” Wanda sighed.

 

“I’m just getting started!” Pietro claimed.

 

Rebecca remained fascinated with the paper money. When it wasn’t his turn, Steve told her the denominations for each piece of money and tried to get her to count them. She did alright, but she couldn’t get very far beyond two. 

 

But she got hungry as noon got closer. Rebecca squirmed and hugged him and whined, so Steve pulled her closer into his lap. He really shouldn’t do it, but he unbuttoned his shirt and let her attach to his breast. Rebecca began to drink hungrily and Steve rocked her in his lap as the game played on. He’d had milk start to come in again in the past few weeks, much earlier along that it’d been with Rebecca. It was both frustrating and a relief, since he could let Rebecca nurse to help her relax with Bucky gone.

 

Bucky loved it, though. The filthy bastard loved sucking on Steve’s tits and getting his own taste of his milk. Steve had been teasing Bucky that he’d gotten hooked on the stuff that he’d gotten Steve pregnant again barely a few months after his milk dried up just to have it again.

 

Rebecca drank for a little while, but there wasn’t much for her to suck up. She swapped nipples after ten minutes and Steve adjusted his shirt to cover his chest. He kept a hand on her back, encouraging her to drink slowly. He knew he shouldn’t breast-feed her at this age, but he couldn’t help it. Everything was so stressful with Bucky gone.

 

While Rebecca was still drinking, however, the front door opened.

 

“We’re back!” Winifred called as Steve looked over his shoulder. 

 

George and Winifred appeared in the hallway behind them. Steve yanked his shirt closed and Rebecca whined loudly as he smothered her a little bit. She pulled her head free, milk dribbling down her chin, and let out a frustrated wail.

 

“Aw, shh, it’s fine, baby,” Steve encouraged her, pulling her close again. “It’s okay, darlin’, you can have it back.”

 

“Oh, what’s the matter with the poor dear?” Winifred said, her voice and footsteps nearing. “Is she alright?”

 

“She’s fine,” Steve said without looking. “Here, come back, honey.”

 

Rebecca, fussing, settled in his lap again. Steve wiped her face clean with his sleeve and encouraged her to attach to his breast again, he still had milk and Rebecca might as well have it. Rebecca grabbed at his shirt and tugged for a bit, but got her mouth on his nipple and began to suckle again.

 

“Poor dear,” Winifred said again. “Is she feeling alright? She’s not feeling ill?”

 

“She’s fine,” Steve repeated, sharper this time.

 

Pietro and Wanda looked up, surprise on their similar faces. Rebecca made another frightened noise, looking up at him with big eyes, and Steve took in a deep breath, smoothing a hand down her hair.

 

“She’s fine,” he said a third time, softer. “Thank you.”

 

“Of course,” Winifred said behind him. “Well – I’ll be in the kitchen. Is that alright?”

 

“Of course it is,” Steve answered, trying to sound civil. “Go ahead.”

 

The floorboards creaked behind them. “Right,” Winifred said. “Is anyone hungry? I’ll make some lunch.”

 

“That would be nice,” Pietro vocalized, smiling in Winifred’s direction. “Thanks, Mrs. Rogers.”

 

“Rogers –” Winifred started.

 

“They’re Yasha’s parents,  _ rybka! _ ” Wanda scolded Pietro. “His name’s actually Barnes!”

 

“Oh, right,” Pietro replied in a mutter.

 

“They swapped surnames,” Peggy said in the direction of George and Winifred. “It was Jim’s idea.”

 

“Oh, right,” Winifred repeated. “Well, we’ll – we’ll get lunch going.”

 

The floorboards creaked and Winifred and George’s footsteps retreated. Peggy cleared her throat.

 

Rebecca detached from Steve’s breast with another frustrated noise. Steve looked down, clucking his tongue sympathetically, and cradled her as best he could over his bump.

 

“Are you still hungry, darling?” he asked softly. “Your tummy not full yet?”

 

“Mama,” Rebecca whined, stretching her hands up for him.

 

Steve clucked his tongue again. He picked her up and set her feet on his knees, cupping her waist with an arm, and she leaned on his shoulders with a heavy pout.

 

“What do you want to eat?” Steve asked her.

 

“‘Nannas,” Rebecca said, bouncing on his lap.

 

“‘Nannas!” Steve repeated, smiling at her. “Do you want them with peanut butter?”

 

“Yeah!” Rebecca answered, a quick smile breaking her pout. “Want Papa to make ‘nannas and peanut butter!”

 

Steve faltered a little. “Papa’s on a mission, sweetheart,” he said softly.

 

Rebecca’s face fell. “I fo’got,” she mumbled.

 

Steve clucked his tongue again. He pulled her in and let her tuck her head into his neck, then set about rocking her gently.

 

“I know,” Steve murmured. “I know, baby.”

 

Peggy was looking down at her lap, her face grieved. Pietro fiddled with the hotels and rentals while Wanda stared at the game board. In the kitchen, Steve heard Winifred beginning to bustle about.

 

“Let’s get you fed,” Steve said quietly.

 

He locked an arm around his daughter and rocked back and forth on his hip until he could get up. Peggy thrust her hands out and Steve grabbed one to push on until he got his feet.

 

“Do you need help?” Wanda asked.

 

“I’ll be fine,” Steve said.

 

“You sure?” Wanda pressed.

 

“Yeah, it’s fine,” Steve insisted. “Didn’t you kids have lunch at Pa’s house?”

 

“We had a bite,” Pietro explained. “Someone was eager to come over here,” he added, elbowing his twin.

 

“You had six pierogi!” Wanda countered as Steve walked out of the sitting room. “I wouldn’t call that a  _ bite! _ ”

 

“I’m a growing boy!” Pietro defended himself.

 

Steve shook his head with a light smile as he entered the kitchen. George looked up, sat at the kitchen table peeling potatoes, and Winifred straightened up from one of the lower cupboards to turn towards Steve.

 

“I was thinking sandwiches and potato salad,” Winifred said quickly.

 

“Rebecca wants bananas and peanut butter,” Steve replied shortly.

 

“Oh, we got some fresh bananas!” Winifred answered, turning on her heel to start digging in some of the paper bags still on the counter. “Bucky used to eat bananas and peanut butter all the time,” she added, throwing a nervous smile over her shoulder.

 

Steve just walked up to the counter without a word and one-handedly lifted the lid of the bread box, taking out the bread. He put it down on the cutting board, then adjusted Rebecca on his hip and crossed to the high chair, settling her in it. 

 

George paused his potato peeling to brush a knuckle across her cheek and Rebecca giggled, clapping her hands over her mouth. Steve hesitated, his hand still on her back.

 

“Bucky does that,” he said abruptly.

 

George glanced up, hand still stretched out towards Rebecca. “Does he?” he questioned.

 

“Uh-huh,” Steve murmured, moving closer almost without thinking to brush back Rebecca’s curls. “All the time. To her and to me.”

 

“He must’ve picked it up from George,” Winifred said behind Steve. “It was how George got him used to his scent when we first left –”

 

Winifred stopped mid-sentence. Steve glanced almost behind him, but couldn’t bring himself to fully look at Winifred. George cleared his throat.

 

“This little one must be quite hungry,” he said. “Will she eat potatoes?”

 

“Yes, but not raw,” Steve answered quickly. “Doc – Doctor Erskine, I mean, he says raw potatoes aren’t good for her digestive system.”

 

“Always gave Bucky an upset tummy,” Winifred commented.

 

“Won’t give ‘er any raw ‘tatoes, then,” George concluded, giving Steve a smile.

 

Steve nodded a little. Rebecca looked up at him, her eyes big, and Steve bent to kiss her forehead.

 

“I’ll get your ‘nanas and peanut butter,” he promised softly. “I’ll make it just like Papa does.”

 

“No c’usts!” Rebecca declared.

 

Steve gave her a smile, petting her curls again. “No crusts,” he agreed.

 

“Would you like me to make it?” Winifred asked.

 

“I can do it,” Steve answered, prickly. “You’re doing – whatever you’re doing.”

 

Winifred wrung her hands a little by the sink as Steve grabbed a bread knife and cut two thin slices of bread. Steve ignored her, but had to move closer to her to grab the bananas. She’d bought greener bananas than Steve preferred, but she’d bought more than he usually did, so at least they would ripen on the counter.

 

“I used to put raisins on Bucky’s banana sandwiches,” Winifred said, apparently trying for conversation.

 

“Rebecca doesn’t like raisins,” Steve replied flatly.

 

“Oh,” Winifred said.

 

Steve took peanut butter out of the cupboard, grabbing a butter knife from the drawer by the sink. He cut off the crusts of the bread, then spread them with peanut butter before peeling one banana. He cut it up, layered one slice of the bread, then covered it with the other and cut it into four triangles. He took out a plate, put them on it, and put the peanut butter knife in the sink as he crossed back to Rebecca’s high chair.

 

“No crusts,” Steve repeated to her.

 

“No c’usts!” Rebecca echoed happily.

 

She picked up one and started happily munching on it. Steve pulled out the chair nearest to her and lowered himself into it with a long exhale of breath, a hand protectively covering his belly.

 

“Would you like me to make you a sandwich?” Winifred asked.

 

“I’m fine,” Steve said, picking up a chunk of potato and popping it into his mouth.

 

“You sure?”

 

“I said I was fine,” Steve snapped.

 

Rebecca stopped chewing, looking up at him nervously. Steve sighed again and smiled at her, reaching out to brush her cheek gently with a hand.

 

“Mama’s tired,” he murmured. “Guess I’d better remember to control my temper, huh?”

 

Rebecca swallowed her cheekful of banana sandwich. “I tired, too, Mama,” she said.

 

“Well, we’re going to take it easy until Papa gets home,” Steve told her. “How’s that?”

 

“Book?” Rebecca asked.

 

“Yes, books,” Steve laughed. “Books and the radio, we’ll only go out for church and to visit the library.”

 

“‘Brary!” Rebecca repeated excitedly. “Go to ‘brary today, Mama?”

 

“Not today,” Steve said.

 

Rebecca pouted.

 

“Tomorrow,” Steve told her, tapping her chin with his thumb, “how’s that sound?”

 

“‘Morrow’s nice!” Rebecca answered, beaming.

 

“Good girl,” Steve replied, smiling at her.

 

Rebecca returned her sandwich triangle to her mouth and resumed munching. Steve leaned onto the table and rested his forehead in a hand.

 

“You do look tired,” George commented. “Maybe you should go back to bed?”

 

“‘M fine,” Steve mumbled.

 

He heard footsteps and lifted his head. Wanda and Pietro entered the kitchen, followed closely by Peggy.

 

“We put the game away,” Wanda said. “Mrs. Barnes, do you need any help?”

 

“Oh, I think I’ve got it, but thank you, dear,” Winifred responded.

 

“If you do need help,” Wanda added, taking a seat at the table.

 

Pietro dropped much less gracefully into another chair, folding his arms onto the table and putting his chin on them. “What’s there to do around here?” he grumbled.

 

“Peeling potatoes,” George said, then rolled one in Pietro’s direction, followed by a spare knife. “There you are, boy.”

 

Pietro huffed, but grabbed the knife and potato. “What’s all these for?”

 

“Some are for stew, some are for potato salad,” Winifred announced. “I do remember how to make your mother’s potato and cabbage soup, Steve.”

 

Steve sat up, turning to blink at her. Winifred smiled hesitantly.

 

“She taught me once,” she said. “Could never forget it.”

 

“I haven’t had that in ten or fifteen years,” Steve admitted.

 

“Good for the soul, Sarah used to say,” Winifred replied, sounding proud of herself. “I got good sausages to put in it and everything.”

 

“I don’t like cabbage,” Pietro announced.

 

“Shush,” Steve told him promptly, “I love cabbage.”

 

“You’re odd,” Pietro answered speculatively.

 

Wanda hit him on the arm not holding the knife. “Don’t be rude!”

 

“Ood!” Rebecca repeated delightedly. “Don’t be ood!”   


 

“Ood,” Pietro giggled, pausing his peeling to snort in Rebecca’s direction. “You’re ood,  _ rybka _ .”

 

“Piet ood!” Rebecca insisted.

 

Pietro flicked a bit of potato peeling in Rebecca’s direction. “I’m the Ood Monster,” he said, “so you’d better watch out, rybka.”

 

Rebecca clapped her hands together, giggling. Steve shook his head with a smile.

 

“What does that mean?” George asked.

 

“Rybka?” Pietro repeated, looking up. “Little fish.”

 

“Fish!” Rebecca giggled.

 

“Ty malen'kaya rybka,” Wanda said. “Da?”

 

“Da!” Rebecca repeated her. “Ryba!” 

 

“Rybka,” Steve corrected her, leaning closer to her. “Ty malen'kaya rybka, solnishka?”

 

“Da!” Rebecca answered happily.

 

“Khoroshaya devushka!” Steve gasped dramatically, grabbing her waist with a gentle hand. “Da, yes, you are a little fish!”

 

“Da!” Rebecca said, clapping her hands.

 

“Two years old, she already knows two languages,” George commented with a smile. “You must be proud, Stevie.”

 

Steve glanced up, then offered George a hesitant smile. “We are proud,” he said quietly, his gaze dropping to Rebecca again.

 

“Ya rybka,” Rebecca announced.

 

“Da, ty!” Wanda answered her fondly.

 

“Ty moy solnishka,” Steve added, leaning over and kissing Rebecca’s hair.

 

“Papa’s solnishka,” Rebecca insisted.

 

“You’re my solnishka, too!” Steve countered. “Aren’t you Mama’s solnishka, too?”

 

“Da!” Rebecca giggled.

 

“What does solnishka mean?” George asked.

 

“Sunshine,” Wanda answered first.

 

“That’s sweet,” Winifred commented.

 

Steve glanced up briefly, then away, nodding. He brushed Rebecca’s hair from her face as she bit into another sandwich triangle, her round cheeks getting rounder. 

 

“Our little sunshine,” Steve said quietly. “Papa’s malen’kaya solnishka i angel.”

 

“Papin malen’kaya solnishka,” Wanda said.

 

“Papin,” Steve corrected himself.

 

“Papin,” Rebecca echoed.

 

“Ty papin malen’kaya solnishka,” Wanda said, leaning forward. “You are Papa’s little sunshine, ty papin malen’kaya solnishka.”

 

“Da!” Rebecca answered.

 

“Khoroshaya devushka,” Steve said again, smiling at her.

 

“Ya khoroshaya devushka,” Rebecca repeated him, slower but still well pronounced.

 

Steve smiled more and leaned in to kiss her forehead. Rebecca turned her head and brushed her nose over his cheek, smiling widely.

 

“What does that one mean?” George asked.

 

“Good girl,” Steve said, looking up briefly. “And she said that she is a good girl.”

 

“Da!” Rebecca said.

 

“She’s so clever,” Peggy spoke up, her voice soft.

 

“I smart ‘cause Mama’s smart!” Rebecca declared happily. “Papa say so!”   


 

“And your papa’s right,” George told her. “Ko-ro-shy-ah de-vush-ka,” he said carefully.

 

“Da,” Wanda said, smiling in George’s direction. “Koroshaya devushka, da.”

 

George smiled, looking proud of himself. Rebecca clapped her hands again, beaming. Steve glanced over his shoulder and found Winifred carefully putting together the cabbage and potato soup.

 

The two of them fit in Steve and Bucky’s home much easier than Steve would have expected or honestly would’ve liked. He could only hope that when Bucky got home, he’d be able to forgive his parents for the years of grief they put him through. Because Steve couldn’t see how he’d be able to explain to Rebecca why she’d gotten new grandparents and had to say goodbye to them so soon after.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _smol child is smol. so, yeah, rybka means fish and solnishka means sunshine. also, the russian translation of angel is ангел and in latin characters it's just angel, which i think is cool. i'll see you next wednesday everyone!_


	26. Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Content warning: mention of burn/burning human remains and cannibalism, and death by gunshot.**
> 
> **_hi everyone! you've probably noticed that there was no update last week, that was intentional and i'm sorry about it, i didn't have the update ready in time. but here we are now and i hope you're ready for this chapter! oh, don't worry about the warning, would i ever be cruel to you?_ **
> 
> **_don't answer that_ **

**_[december, 1949 - january 15th, 1950]_ **

 

The snow seemed unending. Every moment of the day, the wind howled and deluge after deluge of snow battered down upon the already beaten land. 

 

Zola’s laboratory was completely destroyed. It took Bucky three weeks just to find it, and that was three weeks past the five it had taken Bucky to get from Canada to the heart of Siberia. He’d taken a plane from Montreal to Anchorage, and from there, a dog-sled pulled by a friend of Peggy’s to a boat that took him across the channel to Lavrentiya in Russia. Eight weeks, two months, and Bucky arrived at the remains of Zola’s laboratory to find that Peggy had been wrong.

 

Bucky found Zola nearly mummified in a snowbank inside the lab. After eight weeks of thinking that he’d find the bastard alive, it was almost a relief. Bucky didn’t have to take his life.

 

But there was a test subject missing. Bucky only found five bodies, and there should have been six. It wasn’t hard to track the sixth down; it took another week of trekking through snow, but Bucky found him.

 

He was holed up in an abandoned farm, huddled around a dying fire in the barn and probably only minutes away from freezing to death when Bucky found him. Still, he got up and tried to clobber Bucky with a tree branch. Bucky easily caught it and threw it away.

 

“You can’t take me!” the poor man shouted.

 

“You’re a New Yorker?” Bucky immediately recognized.

 

The fella dropped back, hitting the ground. “You ain’t a Red,” he said quietly.

 

“Nah,” Bucky answered. “Name’s Barnes, Bucky Barnes.”

 

“Barnes?” the guy repeated, just blinking at him. “I – I had a name.”

 

Bucky knelt down in front of him, then slipped off his coat and draped it over the man’s shoulders.

 

“I’ll call you Joe,” he offered.

 

“Nah,” the guy mumbled. “Was – Was an  _ M. _ ”

 

“Mac?” Bucky suggested.

 

The guy just shrugged. Bucky patted his shoulder lightly.

 

“Mac,” he repeated. “I’m here to take you home.”

 

Mac just shook his head. “No home to go to,” he said. “Can’t. Not anymore.”

 

“You got family back home?” Bucky asked. “They’re missing you.”

 

“I’m dead,” Mac insisted.

 

He grabbed Bucky’s arm suddenly, squeezing tightly. “I’m dead!” he hissed. “You go back, you find my wife, you tell ‘er I died fighting!”

 

“But –” Bucky started to say.

 

“I ain’t a man no more!” Mac said in a sorrowful whisper. “I set that mad scientist on fire with my eyes! I ain’t no man!”

 

Bucky glanced back at the dying fire. There was no wood in it. The fuel was long since charred, but Bucky recognized bones when he saw them.

 

“What’s your wife’s name?” Bucky asked him.

 

“Janey,” Mac whispered. “Janey… Janey Finch.”

 

“That your name or what her name was?” Bucky pressed.

 

Mac just shook his head. Bucky patted his shoulder.

 

“I’ll find her, pal,” he promised. “Where did you live?”

 

“Brooklyn,” Mac murmured. “Navy Hill.”

 

Bucky gave him a smile. “‘S where me an’ my Omega lived,” he murmured. “Janey Finch? She blonde?”

 

Mac gave a nod, suddenly grinning back. “Prettiest blonde hair you ever saw.”

 

“Sorry, I’d hafta argue on that count,” Bucky joked lightly, “my Omega’s got the prettiest blonde hair you ever saw.”

 

“Barnes,” Mac repeated quietly. “From Brooklyn?”

 

“Yeah,” Bucky answered.

 

“I knew you,” Mac whispered.

 

Bucky squeezed his shoulder. “I can get you out of here,” he reminded him. “You have a chance.”

 

Mac shook his head. “Please,” he asked, grabbing Bucky’s collar, “don’t let the wolves eat me.”

 

Bucky hesitated. “I could take you home –”

 

“No home left for me,” Mac insisted. “No, no, burn me! Burn me, way I burned the Reds!”

 

“Pal –” Bucky tried.

 

Mac grabbed Bucky’s collar and shook him. “I watched their eyeballs pop from the fire!” he hissed. “I was so hungry, I – I –”

 

“It’s okay,” Bucky said quickly, “you can still go home!”

 

“No, no!” Mac babbled. “I _ate_ them, Barnes!”

 

Bucky fell back, horrified. 

 

“You see, I can’t go home!” Mac insisted. “You – You’ve got to burn me!”

 

Bucky shook his head. Mac nodded, jibbering as he tugged on Bucky’s collar.

 

“Burn me,” Mac repeated. “The wolves’ll eat me like I ate the Reds if you don’t!”

 

Bucky pushed Mac off him and stumbled back. Mac fell forward, crawling, and Bucky jumped away from him.

 

“Please!” Mac sobbed, begging. “You can’t leave me like this!”

 

Bucky reached for his sidearm. Mac saw it and fell back, covering his face and sobbing again.

 

“I’ll burn what’s left,” Bucky promised quietly.

 

“Thank you!” Mac whimpered. “Mercy, God has mercy left in ‘im!”

 

Bucky pulled the coat away from him. Mac covered his head, whimpering under his breath.

 

“Mercy,” Bucky muttered to himself.

 

Mac whimpered right up until Bucky fired. After the ringing of the gunshot had left, the barn was left in silence.

 

Silence, until the howling of the wind outside reached him again. Bucky took a very unsteady breath.

 

“Mercy,” Bucky muttered once more.

 

The fire spread easily to Mac. Bucky burned down the whole barn to be safe.

 

“Nine fuckin’ weeks,” he hissed under his breath. “Nine fuckin’ weeks and for a mad old man who’d done the job already.”

 

He’d found an old locket on Mac, at least. Bucky remembered the girl inside, Janey Hasset, not Finch; she’d been almost as pretty as Steve, he’d say. Finch had to be Mac's name. He’d tell Peggy and Peggy would see someone let her know what happened.

 

Almost all of what happened.

 

Bucky sent Peggy a telegram from Yakutsk and had to wait another week for her to reply with the arrangements for his travel back. By the time he boarded the boat Lavrentiya again, it’d been nearly twelve full weeks.

 

Twelve weeks for fucking nothing.

 

From Lavrentiya, it was the sled back to Anchorage, and the puddle-jumper from there to Juneau, to Vancouver, Calgary, Regina, and Winnipeg where they spent three fucking days patching up the puddle-jumper. They had to stop again by Lake Superior and again in Sudbury, and nearly thirteen weeks after he left, Bucky landed in Montreal again.

 

“Home sweet home,” he sighed as he stepped off the plane.

 

“‘S the middle of the night, boy,” the pilot reminded him. “Kip in the cargo bay with the others ‘til morning.”

 

“No,” Bucky said, grabbing his pack, “I’m going home and I’m going to kip in my own damn bed next to my wife and pray that the baby’s still a few days from being born.”

 

“Oh, you’d better run!” he was advised. “Pray you don’t wake the missus up when you get home at three in the morning!”

 

Bucky ran from the airstrip towards the city lights. As soon as he could, he flagged a taxi and gave the driver his home address.

 

“Put your back into it an’ I’ll give ya a lil’ something in thanks,” Bucky promised.

 

“I’ll go by the speed limit an’ you’ll pay the fare like anybody else,” the cabbie countered.

 

“Pal, I ain’t seen my wife in weeks,” Bucky told him, leaning on the partition. “I got a kid on the way, he might’ve even been born already while I was gone!”

 

“Shouldn’t’ve been gone, then,” the cabbie said smartly.

 

Bucky bounced his knee the whole hour’s ride home. The cabbie drove purposefully slow, Bucky was sure of it.

 

“Here, what you’re due,” Bucky told him in grumble.

 

“Hey, what about the gratitude?” the cabbie called after him as he jumped out of the car.

 

“Should’a been faster!” Bucky yelled over his shoulder.

 

Bucky almost dropped his keys in his haste to unlock the front door. Minding that it was the middle of the night, he was quiet sneaking in. But in opening the front door, he heard music inside, hushed voices, and the kitchen light was on.

 

“Pietro?” Bucky heard Steve’s voice call out. “Is that you?”

 

Bucky dropped his bag. It hit the ground with a thud and he took almost hesitant steps towards the kitchen, where he could see Steve’s shadow sitting at the table, just past the doorway.

 

Bucky entered the kitchen. Steve looked over his shoulder and his face lit up in a grin.

 

“Buck,” Steve murmured.

 

Bucky’s gaze fell to Steve’s chest. He sucked in his breath and fell to his knees right by Steve’s chair, his gaze unmoving.

 

He was too late. Steve cradled the wee babe in his arms a little closer, almost jostling it from his breast. 

 

“Meet your son, Buck,” Steve murmured. “George Buchanan.”

 

Bucky lifted his hand and touched the baby’s head. He had less hair than Rebecca did when she’d been born, but it was darker, almost black like Bucky’s. 

 

“Georgie,” Bucky whispered. “Hey, buddy.”

 

His son detached from Steve’s nipple, milk dribbling down his chin. Bucky reached out and gently wiped it away, cleaning his face, and Georgie looked at him, blinking at him. His eyes were just as blue as Rebecca’s had been when she was born, even though her eyes were brown now.

 

“He was born the day before yesterday,” Steve said quietly. “Easy as you please, Doc said it was the quickest birth he ever attended.”

 

“Hey, buddy,” Bucky repeated softly, smiling at his son. “You couldn’t wait just a couple more days for Papa to get home, huh?”

 

“Barnes boys have always been contrary,” a woman announced in a smart tone.

 

Bucky looked up, smiling still. And he froze, smiling up at his mother.

 

“He must’ve been too excited,” Winifred added, smiling nervously at him.

 

Bucky glanced between his father, sat across the table, and Winifred, standing just behind him with two steaming mugs in hand. Winifred smiled again and put them down, pushing them towards Bucky and Steve.

 

“I made cocoa,” she said quietly.

 

Steve picked one up calmly. Bucky fell back onto his ass, then rubbed at his eyes.

 

“Your parents are here,” Steve said then.

 

“I noticed,” Bucky answered hoarsely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _oooh. i'll see you again next week (provided i finish the update by then lol) wish me luck for the weekend, i'm going to an admitted student's day at my university with my folks, i got the weekend off and everything. gonna be lit!_


	27. Six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _we're almost to the end, omg!!_

**_[october, 1949, to january 15th, 1950]_ **

 

Peggy left for New York again a few days after she arrived. That left Steve alone with Bucky’s parents. Wanda and Pietro stayed, of course, and Natasha brought by a trunk of their things the day after Peggy left and took the time to shake hands with George and Winifred. Winifred looked uncomfortable with her around and Steve was unsure if it was how short Natasha had cut her hair or the fact that she was wearing slacks and suspenders like a man.

 

“No offense,” Natasha said quietly to Steve just before she left, “but there’s something off about your mother-in-law.”

 

“I noticed,” Steve assured her.

 

Natasha seemed suspicious. She came by every morning after that on her way to the garage, usually with bread or a meat pie from her sisters. She wore boots and baggy pants and a bulky trench coat as it got colder out, and Steve kept expecting Winifred to say something snide about it.

 

Winifred didn’t say a word. She looked disconcerted when Natasha first introduced herself, but then held back her tongue every day after that. It was a little surprising.

 

October welcomed snow from November. The radiators broke down just after All Saint’s Day, but Steve hardly even noticed as George cracked Bucky’s toolbox and had them fixed within the day. Winifred caught Steve breastfeeding Rebecca a few days after that and he’d braced himself to be scolded, but all she’d done was prop up his elbows with pillows and remind him to put his feet up. Peggy called once a week to check on them and Steve found himself relaxing the longer George and Winifred stayed.

 

Though he was struggling to maintain some sanity, the scent-marking Bucky had done before he left and the company Pietro and Wanda and George and Winifred gave along with Rebecca’s constant clinginess helped. Steve was prepared to make a case for the Barneses once Bucky got home. Their apologies were genuine and Rebecca adored them. 

 

Then near the end of November, Wanda had her first heat. They hadn't been expecting it and Pa Romanoff became concerned about George being in the house, but before they had to think about moving Wanda, Winifred offered to move to a hotel. Natasha came to stay with them instead. Wanda locked herself in her room, then the following morning, Pietro woke up with a fever.

 

Steve hadn't been prepared for his own first heat, but he recognized the glassy look in Pietro’s eyes. He put them both to bed, started a pot of stew, and filled plastic bottles of water to keep at their bedsides. 

 

“They can go back home,” Natasha reminded Steve. “You don’t have to take care of them.”

 

“They’ve been taking care of me plenty,” Steve told her. “I really don’t mind.”

 

He didn’t. It was nice to have something to focus on other than Bucky’s absence and it felt like practice for when Rebecca grew up. After a couple of days, Wanda and Pietro stopped the squirming they’d been doing and slept the last of the fever off. Pietro woke up more confused than Wanda, but once he figured out what had happened, he stayed in his room for a long time.

 

Steve didn’t push him. Wanda had known she’d present as an Omega, but Pietro clearly hadn't been expecting it. He offered to let them go home, but Pietro said he was fine staying to help Steve. He just needed time to come to grips with his designation.

 

November ended and December rang in even more snow. Steve took Rebecca, and Wanda and Pietro, to the Hanukkah services at Saint Barlaam’s and Rebecca got to light the menorah, though Pietro helped her. Steve and Bucky had decided while he’d still been pregnant with Rebecca that they would try to bring their kids up with both the Jewish holidays that Bucky had grown up with and the Catholic ones Steve was raised with. Saint Barlaam was half Jewish, anyway, with the result that Father Chebykin performed Eastern Orthodox ceremonies and Rabbi Halevi performed Jewish services all in the same building, so it wasn’t like they had to go to two different places of worship. They’d keep the kitchen kosher, but neither of them really cared about the difference between the two religions spiritually. Rebecca loved having Hanukkah and Christmas, anyway, and the kids could decide for themselves what they wanted to believe once they were old enough to understand.

 

Steve had hoped that Bucky would be home in time for Christmas, if not Hanukkah. But on Boxing Day, Peggy said she hadn't heard from him yet. Steve’s due date was January 20th and that only gave Bucky thirty days to get home in time. It was fine, he insisted. Bucky would be there.

 

Steve forced himself to ignore the negative feelings the beginning of January gave him. He focused on Rebecca, who was learning to count things and starting to read little by little. George and Winifred said they wanted to look at moving to the area, though they agreed to wait until Bucky got home to do anything concrete. Becca, the grown woman, had written Steve her congratulations that he and Bucky weren’t dead and mentioned visiting in the summer. Steve had plenty to distract him.

 

Bucky was still in Russia. On the 10th, Peggy called to tell him that he was finally returning to Canada and would hopefully be home before the 20th.

 

And then he went into labor early in the morning of the 15th. 

 

Steve, later, didn’t remember much of the delivery. Like with Rebecca, Doc came to the house to help with the birth. All of the Romanoff sisters showed up as well, with food to stock the pantry and their kids to distract Rebecca, and they, along with Winifred, made Doc’s presence almost obsolete. Doc didn’t seem to mind. Steve was in labor almost all of the day, but as the sun set, it was all finally over.

 

It was a boy. Steve heard the baby cry out for the first time in crystal-clear perfection and just like Rebecca, the pain of giving birth was immediately distant. Anya laid his son in his arms and Steve cooed to him, smiling at him as his baby slowly opened his eyes.

 

“What are you going to call him?” Inessa asked.

 

“George Buchanan,” Steve decided on the spot.

 

Winifred let out an abrupt sob and covered her mouth just as quickly. Steve looked up at her, then waved her over and pulled her down into a hug. Winifred ugly-cried into his shoulder for a while and the room slowly emptied. Steve rubbed her back and just let her cry. After a minute, he pushed her up and then handed her the baby.

 

“That’s Nana,” Steve said to little George in a soft voice. “That’s your Nana Winnie.”

 

And when they let George in, he cried, too. Steve could honestly say he didn’t mind.

 

Rebecca looked at her little brother with wonder in her eyes.

 

“How come he doesn’t have any hair?” she asked.

 

“He hasn’t grown it yet!” Steve laughed.

 

“Why not?” Rebecca asked again.

 

“That’s how babies are when they’re born,” Steve said. “He’ll grow hair eventually.”

 

“Okay,” Rebecca said, accepting it easily.

 

Steve sent Peggy a telegram to invite her to the baby’s Brit Milah on the 23rd. She called him back with a promise that she would be there and an assurance that Bucky would, too. He would be back in Montreal any day then, she said. Steve, exhausted and well beyond done with not having Bucky around, was ecstatic.

 

After the baby was born, most of the Romanoff sisters returned to their homes. Wanda went home for a break, but Pietro and Natasha stayed behind. Winifred and George were still there, as well. The days after were spent resting, thought Little George didn’t seem to think sleeping was such a good idea. He woke Steve up very early in the morning both the day after he was born and the day after that.

 

The second day after, however, Steve was glad to be woken up at half past two, because at quarter past three, he was sitting in the kitchen feeding Little George, Winifred was making cocoa, and George was at the table balancing the checkbook for Steve. The radio was on on the kitchen table and they were listening to music, though it was turned far down. They were all there, and just in time.

 

“I think I’ve dropped a one somewhere,” George muttered under his breath as he scratched his temple with the point of his pencil.

 

Winifred walked up behind him, put down one mug of cocoa, and lifted her reading glasses to her nose, while Steve patted the baby’s back lightly and rocked back and forth, out of habit, and Little George made soft noises as he drank more and more slowly. And as Winifred squinted down at George’s math for the missing one, Steve heard the front door click.

 

He frowned and turned his head to the side, wondering if he’d heard it right or if it just hadn't been Pietro coming down the stairs. He heard soft footsteps and leaned forward some, prompting Winifred and George to look up as well.

 

“Pietro, is that you?” Steve called down the hallway.

 

After that, there was a heavy thud and George almost got up, but the footsteps continued at a measured gait. Steve glanced up at the clock on the counter to check the time and then looked back over his shoulder in time to see Bucky walk in.

 

Steve broke into a grin immediately, inhaling a quiet gasp. “Buck,” he said quietly, hugging Little George closer to him. Bucky grinned back at him, turning straight for him, and then almost as immediately, he stopped, looking at the baby as his face switched to surprise.

 

Steve smiled a little regretfully and looked down to adjust the baby in his arms so Bucky could see. Bucky knelt down next to him, hands lifted a little, and Steve aimed his smile back at him.

 

“Meet your son,” he said quietly. “George Buchanan,” he added.

 

Bucky smiled again and lifted his hand the rest of the way to touch the baby’s head. He let out a quiet breath, jaw slack and eyes awed. “Georgie,” he murmured, and his smile lifted a touch at the corner. “Hey, buddy.”

 

Little Georgie let go of Steve’s nipple as Bucky touched him and he peered around, smacking his lips; he found Bucky and blinked at him, working his jaw a little as he looked at him.

 

“He was born the day before yesterday,” Steve continued, still quiet. “Easy as you please, Doc said it was the quickest birth he ever attended.”

 

“Hey, buddy,” Bucky said again with a soft chuckle. “You couldn’t wait just a couple more days for Papa to get home, huh?”

 

Winifred lowered her reading glasses and picked up the mug she’d put down, smiling a little. “Barnes boys have always been contrary,” she said.

 

Bucky glanced up. Steve realized that he hadn't even noticed that they weren’t alone, because he looked up and he just stopped, staring at her.

 

“He must’ve been too excited,” Winifred added.

 

Bucky didn’t say anything. Steve looked between him and her. Winifred glanced down and lifted the mugs a little, then put them down and pushed them towards Steve.

 

“I made cocoa,” she offered.

 

Steve reached forward and took one of the mugs, still staying quiet. Then Bucky dropped onto his rump and rubbed his knuckles into his eyes and just blinked at his mother. Steve cleared his throat a little.

 

“Your parents are here,” he stated the obvious.

 

“I noticed,” Bucky rasped.

 

Winifred smiled nervously. George let out his breath and lifted his reading glasses off his nose, folded them, and put them down. Little Georgie looked up at Steve almost expectantly, blinking a few times. Steve put his mug back down and touched his head, shushing him softly. Little Georgie just seemed to accept what was happening and returned to his supper, reattaching to Steve’s breast and starting to knead at it. Steve stroked his head, then set his hand at his back and looked up again.

 

Bucky was looking at him, eyebrows raised. Steve raised his in return. Bucky glanced back at his parents, then grabbed the table and pushed himself back to his feet. He opened his mouth, stopped again, and glanced at Little Georgie drinking steadily. 

 

“Could you excuse us?” Bucky asked, though he was still looking at the baby.

 

“Of course,” Winifred answered immediately. “George, come on.”

 

George exhaled heavily and pushed out of his chair. Winifred patted his shoulder and went ahead of him, going out the other doorway out of the kitchen into the hallway beyond. Bucky pulled out the chair at the end of the table and dropped into it, looking exhausted.

 

“What the hell are they doing here?” he asked.

 

“Peggy brought them up,” Steve answered softly. Bucky’s eyebrows lifted even higher and Steve gave a nod, lips pressed together. “She didn’t know,” he explained. “She didn’t ask, either, she just did it. Thought it would be good for me.”

 

“Why are they  _ still _ here?” Bucky demanded sharply.

 

Steve gave him an unimpressed look. Bucky dropped his gaze and took in a deep breath, then nodded and propped his elbows on the table to rub at his face again.

 

“Sorry,” he mumbled. “I just – Why are they still here?” he asked again without the tone.

 

“They apologized,” Steve told him. 

 

Bucky looked back at him, eyebrows high on his forehead again. Steve just nodded a second time.

 

“I know,” he agreed. “I thought that at first, too. But George – Your pa, he offered to send your ma back to New York on his own just to stay and be Rebecca’s granddad. They explained why they lied to you and it was an awful excuse, but they really are sorry.”

 

“What was their excuse?” Bucky asked in a tired mumble as he covered his eyes again.

 

“Winifred was worried what would happen if we did stay together,” Steve admitted. “And she really did have a point. She was worried that if we weren’t separated, we’d fall in love and wouldn’t consider the consequences.”

 

“ _ Consequences? _ ” Bucky repeated as he dropped his hand, disbelieving in all ways.

 

“Yeah,” Steve answered with a shrug. “And she’s right, we wouldn’t’ve. If we’d tried to be together in 1933 in New York, we would’ve been labeled queer at best and locked up at worst.”

 

“We wouldn’t’ve been locked up –” Bucky started to say.

 

“Maybe not in jail, but in the looney bin, for sure,” Steve cut him off. “And we would’ve! I knew a poor girl that was committed after living with an Alpha woman for just two weeks; I almost got thrown in one myself,” he continued in a quiet but firm voice. “They’re not nice places, Buck.”

 

“So, they told me –” Bucky started, then cut himself off, sighing and looking at Little Georgie.

 

“I said it was an awful excuse,” Steve reminded him. “It was. Your ma says it was, your pa says it was her idea and he only went along with it because he hates upsetting her.”

 

Steve raised his eyebrows pointedly. Bucky sighed yet again and nodded, swiping a hand over his face.

 

“He is a teacher’s pet,” he mumbled.

 

“Like you,” Steve added quietly.

 

Bucky sat upright, eyebrows shooting up. Steve shrugged.

 

“I think you’ve both got reason,” he said.

 

“I’m not your pet,” Bucky insisted.

 

Steve broke into a smile and raised his eyebrows. Bucky spluttered for a second, then turned pink and shook his head before pushing out of his chair and reaching for Steve’s face.

 

“I fucking missed you,” he said, “gimme some sugar, angel.”

 

Steve grinned and lifted a hand to cup Bucky’s cheek in return. Bucky held his face with both hands and pressed their lips together firmly, holding onto him for a long moment, until Little Georgie seemed to get irritated by the lack of light caused by Bucky’s shadow and he griped about it in a babble. Bucky let go and backed off, looking down, then grinned and bent to smack a kiss to the baby’s head.

 

“I know,” he murmured, “you want your ma all to ya self, I know. I get the feeling, pal.”

 

Georgie looked up at Bucky and said: “Gugh!” quite disgruntledly.

 

Bucky kissed him again. Georgie squealed, ducking to cower against Steve’s chest, and Bucky stepped away from his chair completely to kneel beside Steve again.

 

“Hey, kiddo,” Bucky said quietly, a hand on Georgie’s back, “you wanna say hi to your pa, huh?”

 

Steve smiled down at their son as Georgie peered around the flap of Steve’s opened nightshirt at Bucky. Bucky smiled at him, rubbing his back.

 

“I’m your pa, champ,” he encouraged. “Say hi?”

 

“Wanna wave at Papa?” Steve added, lifting Georgie’s hand for him and waving it a little.

 

Little Georgie whined softly and grabbed onto Steve’s nightshirt. Bucky’s smile faltered a little, then he pressed it back even stronger.

 

“Papa,” he insisted, pointing at himself. “I’m your papa, buddy, your old man.”

 

Georgie blinked at him. Steve reached over and grabbed Bucky’s hand, squeezing it and bringing it close. Bucky shifted to sit on his hip right against Steve’s chair and leaned his head on his waist, smiling up at the baby.

 

“Hi, kiddo,” he murmured. “Can you smile at me?”

 

“He hasn’t smiled yet,” Steve told him quietly.

 

“Wave at me?” Bucky prompted.

 

Steve took Bucky’s finger and touched it to Little Georgie’s fist. Georgie looked at the end of it, blinking, and then he reached out and grabbed onto it, tugging it closer. Steve glanced at Bucky’s face and he was grinning again. His eyes were watering. Georgie held Bucky’s fingertip up to his face, then looked at Bucky again and grabbed onto his finger with both hands, tugging on it.

 

“Hey, buddy,” Bucky murmured. “It’s great to meet you, too.”

 

“We love you, Georgie,” Steve added, dropping his arm around Bucky’s shoulders.

 

“We love you,” Bucky echoed. “We love you so much, kiddo.”

 

Little Georgie tugged on Bucky’s fingertip again. He looked at it, back up at Steve, then tucked himself against Steve’s chest again, holding onto Bucky’s fingertip. He shut his eyes and started breathing slowly.

 

“Rebecca loves them,” Steve said quietly. “The morning they arrived, she got upset and wanted you and I couldn’t calm her down. George took her from me and made this funny face at her and she calmed down right away, just like that. She thought he was you, at first, because you smell the same.”

 

Bucky didn’t say anything. He just sighed. Steve squeezed his shoulder, looking at Little Georgie with him.

 

“Your ma was really afraid of what could happen to us,” he said quietly. “Because – Did you know that…?”

 

“Know what?” Bucky asked in a murmur.

 

“Your pa?” Steve added, looking at him again.

 

Bucky blinked, then looked up at Steve with a frown. “What about him?”

 

“Not – Not George,” Steve whispered.

 

Bucky just blinked.

 

“George isn’t your father,” Steve said.

 

“What are you talking about?” Bucky asked, sitting up with a confused frown. “Of course he is.”

 

Steve shook his head. Bucky nodded, but Steve shook his head again.

 

“Your father was a Beta,” Steve said quietly. “George’s cousin; they were neighbors. It’s why your ma was so worried about what could happen to us, she and your father weren’t married and the police kept arresting him because they lived together.”

 

“Why –” Bucky started, whispering under his breath now. “I don’t – I don’t understand?”

 

“Winifred said he got violent,” Steve confessed just as softly. “Because he was being mistreated by the police, he took it out on her. And you.”

 

Bucky shook his head again.

 

“George took her to New York,” Steve added. “The same time that your family and my ma met. They got married in New York and had Rebecca. She’s your half-sister.”

 

Bucky looked over his shoulder out of the kitchen. He stood up, his finger slipping from Georgie’s grip and waking him, and he walked out. Steve sighed, hugged Georgie, then grabbed his mug and took a gulp before securing the baby and getting up. He followed Bucky out of the kitchen and down the hall to the sitting room.

 

“… why did you never tell me?” Bucky asked his parents.

 

“I was ashamed,” Winifred answered, her gaze on her hands folded in her lap.

 

“It doesn’t change that you’re my son,” George insisted. “I raised you, not him.”

 

“But why –” Bucky started to demand.

 

Steve pressed his finger to his lip. Bucky saw him and nodded, covering his face with a hand again. Steve walked up to him and touched his arm, then shifted Little Georgie to pass him over. Bucky dropped his hand, looking at the baby, then thrust out his hands eagerly and Steve settled the baby in his arms. Bucky backed up and sat down on the loveseat, looking down at Georgie.

 

“I never meant for my lies to get so bad,” Winifred said. “There’s nothing I can do to change it. I am so sorry.”

 

“We both are,” George added.

 

Bucky exhaled heavily, still looking at Little Georgie. The baby peered up at him for a moment, then seemed to decide he didn’t mind what was happening and shut his eyes.

 

“We should put him to bed,” Bucky said quietly.

 

“You could sleep on it?” Steve suggested.

 

Bucky glanced up at his parents. He nodded and held Georgie closer. He got up and held out a hand, that Steve took, and helped him up.

 

“They’re in the guest room,” Steve added.

 

Bucky glanced over his shoulder, nodded once, and laced his fingers through Steve’s, walking out. Steve didn’t look behind him. On the stairs up, he dropped Bucky’s hand and instead put his arm around him.

 

“What do you think?” Bucky asked halfway up.

 

Steve exhaled. “I think Rebecca loves them,” he admitted, then, slowed to a stop at the second-floor landing. Bucky turned to face him and Steve looked at him frankly. “And,” he continued, “if I had the chance, I’d get my ma back in a heartbeat.”

 

Bucky looked down. He cradled Little Georgie closer, sighed, and leaned back into Steve to continue to the third floor. Steve went to open their bedroom door, but Bucky paused, looking down the hallway.

 

“Can I wake her up?” he mused.

 

“Your daughter,” Steve reminded him.

 

Bucky settled Georgie on his chest better, then went down the hallway. Steve followed him. Bucky cracked open the door to the nursery and stuck his head inside, then slipped in. Steve lingered in the doorway, smiling as Bucky looked around, becoming more and more bemused.

 

“Where is she?” he asked, facing Steve.

 

Steve, chuckling, pointed over his shoulder. “Our bed,” he said.

 

Bucky gave him a reproachful look and pushed past him. Steve covered his mouth to muffle his giggles, but followed Bucky back down the hallway to their room. Rebecca was in the middle of their bed, clutching to her bunny and sucking on a pacifier, fast asleep. Steve had already set up the bassinet by the bed, but Bucky didn’t seem to want to put Georgie down. Steve didn’t blame him. Bucky sat down on the edge of the bed, holding Georgie to his chest with one arm, and gently touched Rebecca’s back.

 

She stirred briefly. Bucky leaned down and tapped her on the shoulder again. Steve walked up and got onto the other side of the bed, looking down at their little girl as well. Rebecca was facing him, so when she lifted her head and blinked around blearily, she saw Steve first. He pointed behind her and Rebecca turned over, idly chewing on her pacifier, and saw Bucky. Bucky grinned as she squealed, wide awake, and scrambled up to hug him. 

 

“Careful!” Bucky told her, laughing as he caught her with his free arm. “Don’t wake up your brother, solnishka!”

 

Rebecca just got onto her feet and strangle-hugged Bucky. Steve crawled over the bed and joined in, wrapping around Rebecca’s back to rest his head on Bucky’s shoulder. Bucky kissed his hair, then Rebecca’s, then Georgie’s.

 

“Papa,” Rebecca mumbled happily, and sleepily. “Mama said you’d be home ‘fore the baby’s born!”   


 

“Well, your brother decided he wanted to welcome me home,” Bucky told her. “Were you a good girl while I was away?”

 

“Uh-huh!” Rebecca said proudly. “Helped – helped Mama –” 

 

She broke off to yawn. Bucky kissed her hair again.

 

“Back to sleep with you,” he said. “You’ll have plenty of time to tell me what I missed in the morning.”

 

“Grandpa an’ Grandma,” Rebecca mumbled. “Grandpa took me to the zoo!”

 

“I went with you,” Steve corrected her quickly.

 

Rebecca pulled away, yawning again, but she nodded. “Mama rode a donkey,” she said.

 

“Did he now?” Bucky countered with a little laugh, looking up at Steve with a grin. “Did they call you Mary?”

 

“Oh, shut up,” Steve scolded him. “And get your nasty traveling clothes off the bed, you’re filthy.”

 

Bucky laughed again and leaned over Rebecca to kiss him. Rebecca giggled and Bucky bent to smack a kiss to her forehead, too. Steve reached over and took Little Georgie from him, even though Georgie made a fuss about it, and Bucky got up the bed to change.

 

“Take a quick shower,” Steve added.

 

“Yes, dear,” Bucky answered, shooting a smitten grin over his shoulder.

 

“Yes, dear,” Steve repeated mockingly, settling Little Georgie in his lap and pulling Rebecca to his side. “You are my pet.”

 

Bucky blew him a kiss from the bathroom doorway. Steve rolled his eyes, then bent and kissed the top of Rebecca’s head.

 

“Go back to sleep, darlin’,” he told her. “Papa’ll still be here when you wake up.”

 

“Promise?” Rebecca asked him, looking up with wide eyes.

 

“Aw, sweetie,” Steve clucked his tongue. “Okay, you can stay up until he comes back from the bath, okay?”

 

Rebecca grinned and nodded, then hugged his middle and squirmed under the blankets again. Steve kicked off his slippers, then stood up briefly to remove his bathrobe (really Bucky’s) and drape it over the rocking chair by the bassinet. He got into bed with Rebecca, holding Georgie to his chest, and set a hand on her back while he waited. He glanced down and found that she’d already fallen asleep again. Steve smiled warmly and let her sleep.

 

Bucky was only in the bathroom for ten minutes or so, but it still felt like forever. He came back out in pajamas, hair wet, and no longer smelling like a cramped airplane. Steve happily waved him over and Bucky got into bed with a smile. He settled in, tossing the blankets up to stick his legs under, and scooted down to toss an arm over Rebecca’s back.

 

“C’mere,” Bucky mumbled, waving to Steve.

 

“I can only go so far,” Steve told him cheekily, even as he lay down and settled Georgie on the bed next to Rebecca. 

 

Bucky reached across their children and set his hand on Steve’s waist. Steve reached over the kids and picked at a fraying thread on Bucky’s lapel.

 

“Kids go to their own beds tomorrow night,” Bucky decided.

 

Steve snorted a little but shook his head. “I think our rybka’s going to have trouble trusting that you’re not going to slip away in the night for a while,” he admitted. “It’s better to let her stay in here for a few nights.”

 

“Aw, honey,” Bucky sighed quietly, pulling his hand back to rest it on Rebecca’s shoulder. He leaned in and kissed her hair, though she didn’t wake up. “Okay,” he agreed.

 

“Naptime’s a different story,” Steve added.

 

Bucky looked up with a glint in his eye and winked. Steve rolled his eyes and turned onto his back.

 

“Give it a few months,” he muttered to himself, “we’ll be doing this all over again.”

 

“I’m not going on any more missions,” Bucky said firmly.

 

Steve looked back at him and raised his eyebrows. “I meant Baby Number Three.”

 

“Oh,” Bucky answered, then nodded. “Yeah.”

 

Steve rolled his eyes again and crossed himself, praying for a little less fertility going into his 30s. Rebecca had been almost two years old when Steve got pregnant with Little Georgie. That had to be a good sign.

 

“Good night, baby,” Bucky murmured.

 

Steve turned back on his side, meeting Bucky’s gaze. He blew a kiss and Bucky caught it, winked, and blew it back. Steve caught it and held it to his heart, smiling.

 

“Night,” he answered. “I love you.”

 

Bucky stretched out his arm again, setting it on Steve’s waist. “I love you, too, sweetheart.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _softness. is there anything else we need?_


	28. Seven

**_[january 15th, 1950]_ **

 

Bucky woke up to something prodding at his nose. He gave a snort and reached up to brush it away, only to be met by soft giggling.

 

Bucky cracked his eyes open and squinted. The heavy weight on his chest that he hadn't noticed until then turned out to be Rebecca, sitting on his stomach and chewing on the cuffs of her nightgown as she giggled.

 

“Hey, you,” Bucky mumbled, lifting a hand to support her back. “What’re you doing, princess?”

 

Rebecca plucked one sleeve from her mouth to reach out with her little fingers and grabbed Bucky’s nose. Bucky gave a long groan and flopped both his arms above his head.

 

“I’ve been got!” he said in a nasal voice. “‘Tevie, ‘Tevie, baby, she got me!”

 

Steve groaned as well, this one much more irritated, and a second hand flopped onto Bucky’s face. Steve grabbed Bucky’s mouth and covered it. Bucky huffed a little.

 

“One’a youse gonna ‘afta leggo,” Bucky mumbled. “Can’t breathe.”

 

Steve batted Rebecca’s hand away. Rebecca let go with a loud, shrieking laugh, and just as she flopped forwards onto Bucky’s chest, Little Georgie woke up and started his own shrieking.

 

“Time to get up,” Steve sighed.

 

“Aw, kiddo,” Bucky said at the same time, stretching his hand out sideways to scoop Georgie up.

 

Bucky pulled the baby closer to him, but Steve pushed up into a sitting position and picked Georgie up. Rebecca hugged Bucky around the neck, wide-eyed as Georgie kept crying. Steve shushed the baby and started bouncing him, pushing up and out of bed to start walking him. Bucky hugged Rebecca to him and sat up, watching Steve walk Georgie around the end of the bed, bouncing him as he continued to cry.

 

“What’s wrong with him, Pa?” Rebecca mumbled.

 

“I bet he’s cranky,” Bucky answered her. “Cranky that someone woke him up, yannow, like Mama is.”

 

“Hey!” Steve said.

 

“God’s honest truth, babydoll,” Bucky insisted.

 

“Then you feed ‘im his breakfast,” Steve retorted, “since I’m so cranky.”

 

Rebecca started giggling again. Georgie stopped wailing for the moment to look at his sister with such utter bewilderment that Bucky couldn’t help but burst into laughter. Rebecca started laughing and clapping her hands. Steve rolled his eyes and sat down in the rocking chair, settling Little Georgie on his lap.

 

“Are you gonna feed him?” Steve asked again. “Or are you just gonna sit there and be a useless, good-for-nothing husband?”

 

“Well, I’m sure I’m good for at least one thing,” Bucky retorted.

 

Steve raised his eyebrows. “What?”

 

Bucky lifted Rebecca up and stood her up on his knees, lifting his eyebrows in return. Steve stifled a snort, then failed and laughed aloud. Georgie looked up, then gave Bucky that same look of utter confusion.

 

“You gotta give it to me,” Bucky insisted.

 

“I think you gave it to me,” Steve countered.

 

Bucky burst into renewed laughter, hugged Rebecca securely to his chest, and collapsed sideways on the bed. Steve shook his head, eyes rolling heavenwards, and he released the top buttons of his nightshirt to give Georgie his breakfast.

 

“One thing,” Steve agreed.

 

“Maybe two,” Bucky added.

 

Steve raised his eyebrows again. “Are we counting both of them in this?”

 

“I’d say so,” Bucky said. “And we should include the next one, to be fair.”

 

Steve rolled his eyes dramatically. Rebecca giggled and squirmed out of Bucky’s arms to instead climb on top of him.

 

“I’m hungry!” she announced to all the room and sundry.

 

“You are!” Bucky answered, looking over his shoulder at her. “What do you want for breakfast?”

 

“‘Nanas!” Rebecca shouted.

 

“Then let’s go get some!” Bucky said, easily scooping her up and hopping out of bed. “Stevie, baby, you coming?”

 

“Is that Stevie _and_ baby or just Stevie, your baby?” Steve replied smartly.

 

“Uh,” Bucky started. “Both?”

 

Steve rolled his eyes again. He glanced down at Georgie, happily drinking, and secured him to get up. Bucky held out an arm to them as Steve approached and pulled him into a one-armed hug, dropping a kiss onto his lips. Rebecca giggled and Steve smiled. The baby let out an affronted gurgle and Bucky quickly pulled back, looking down at Georgie in confusion. Georgie smacked his lips, looked at Bucky crossly, and then reattached to Steve’s tit to resume his breakfast.

 

“Yannow, I really think you should’a called him Steve Junior,” Bucky said.

 

“Oh, piss off,” Steve retorted.

 

“Piss off!” Rebecca repeated excitedly. “Piss off, Papa!”

 

“Oh, no, no, sweetie, that’s a bad word!” Steve tried to quickly back peddle.

 

Bucky just laughed and headed down the stairs.

 

The house was quiet on the second floor, but as Bucky stepped out into the front hallway of the first floor, he heard the radio going and quiet voices.

 

Steve walked right past Bucky and headed into the kitchen. Bucky slowed to a stop just outside the sitting room, frowning at the kitchen tiles. Rebecca leaned into his neck and tugged on his ear.

 

“Papa?” she murmured.

 

Bucky steeled himself and gave her a smile. “It’s fine, solnishka,” he said. “Let’s go say good morning to Grandma and Grandpa, okay?”

 

Rebecca smiled widely, showing off the gap between her two front teeth and the dimples she got from Steve. Bucky set her on his hip and gave her nose a tap to make her giggle more, then he walked into the kitchen.

 

His mother was moving around the stove and counters. His father sat at the far head of the table with a newspaper opened in front of him. Pietro sat just to his right, nose buried in his elbow as he slumped over the table. Wanda was opposite him, reading a book.

 

Steve, just ahead of Bucky, pulled out a chair and sat down with Little Georgie. Bucky’s mother turned around as he walked in; she looked worried for a second and then she forced a smile.

 

Bucky put Rebecca in her high chair first. He settled her, made sure she was comfortable, and then kissed her cheek. Rebecca giggled and clapped her hands and Bucky gave her another loud smack.

 

“Tickles, Pa!” Rebecca cried.

 

“Tickles?” Bucky answered, then felt his jaw and remembered that it had been almost two weeks since he’d last shaved. “Oh, I’m sorry, solnishka, I promise I’ll shave tonight.”

 

“A father must shave for to spare his daughter’s cheeks,” Bucky’s pa recited primly.

 

Bucky glanced up. His pa stayed immersed in the newspaper. Rebecca looked up at Bucky, eyes big, and then she grabbed onto his shirt and tugged.

 

“What about Mama’s cheeks?” she asked.

 

“Mama’s cheeks are used to it,” Steve answered calmly.

 

Bucky glanced at him and winked. Steve turned a little bit pink and looked down at Georgie pointedly. Bucky chuckled, then kissed the top of Rebecca’s head.

 

“Don’t worry about it, kiddo,” he said.

 

Bucky stepped away from the high chair, letting his hand fall from Rebecca’s shoulder, and headed for the stove. His mother backed up a step, eyes wide, but Bucky clapped a hand onto her shoulder and pulled her in to kiss her cheek.

 

“Morning, Ma,” he said. “Breakfast smells good.”

 

“Morning,” his mother replied softly. “Yes. Yes, they’re real eggs, we’ve got chickens now.”

 

“Really?” Bucky said, startled. He stepped around the fridge and parted the curtain looking into the backyard. “When did we get chickens?”

 

“Just before Hanukkah,” Ma said, still quiet.

 

“I like to chase them!” Rebecca announced, leaning on the back of her high chair to look at him. “But they don’t like to be chased.”

 

“Not many creatures do,” Bucky told her. “Tell you what, next time you feel like chasing a body, come and fetch me and I’ll let you chase me, how’s that sound, pumpkin?”

 

“Yay!” Rebecca said, clapping her hands together.

 

Bucky gave her a smile, then looked back at his mother. “We got coffee?”

 

“Yes,” Ma said, seeming to snap out of her daze. “Yes, and there’s real cream in the fridge, dear Natasha’s brought it from her fiancé’s farm.”

 

“Neat,” Bucky said, taking a cup from the cupboard. “Stevie-doll, you want any?”

 

“No, thank you,” Steve answered. “Still doesn’t quite agree with me.”

 

Bucky glanced behind him and gave Steve a sympathetic grimace. Steve just shrugged, smiling absently, and Bucky looked back ahead of him to watch his mother pouring coffee into his cup.

 

“I made Challah bread,” Ma added.

 

“Thank you,” Bucky told her, giving her a smile.

 

Ma smiled back at him. She looked relieved. Bucky gave her another kiss to the cheek, then took his coffee to the table and sat down opposite his father.

 

“I replaced a few nuts and bolts in the radiators,” Pa spoke up. “Don’t know if you noticed. Stopped gurgling as much.”

 

“Thanks,” Bucky said. “I was gonna do something about those.”

 

Pa shrugged. “Had the time,” he said, turning a page in his newspaper. “Was no trouble.”

 

“Thanks,” Bucky repeated.

 

Steve suddenly let out a soft laugh and shook his head. “Alphas,” he muttered under his breath, adjusting Little Georgie in his lap.

 

“Alphas,” Wanda agreed.

 

Bucky’s mother laughed airily, but continued tending breakfast.

 

Bucky glanced down into his coffee cup, smiling a little. He didn’t feel that there was anything he needed to say. It’d been said already.

 

His ma served up plates of eggs and home fries. Pietro woke up and tucked in. Wanda kept her book as she ate, it turned out to be a copy of _Nancy Drew and the Secret of the Old Clock._ Ma sat down between Pietro and Steve and served plenty of eggs and potatoes onto everyone’s plate. Rebecca was given a plate of bananas and a piece of toast smeared with peanut butter, and she got peanut butter all over her face.

 

“Just like your father,” Ma tuts, getting up to clean her up with a handkerchief.

 

“Well, we’ve discovered this little one’s just like his ma,” Bucky announced, reaching over to stroke a thumb over Little Georgie’s cheek; the baby squirmed and grabbed onto his thumb, immediately sticking it in his mouth. Bucky smiled and let him. “He’s cranky and doesn’t like sharing.”

 

“I think you’re the one incapable of sharing,” Steve retorted.

 

Bucky laughed and leaned over to kiss his cheek. Steve rolled his eyes.

 

“Scratchy kisses,” he grumbled.

 

“Do you want to attend church?” Pa asked then.

 

Bucky glanced up at the time. “Yeah,” he said, looking back at Steve. “Do you wanna go?”

 

Steve shrugged. “Sure, if you’d like to.”

 

“What about the baby?” Wanda asked.

 

Steve glanced down. “He should be fine,” he said, smiling at Georgie. “Won’t you, darling?”

 

Georgie looked up at Steve and then he smiled.

 

“Look!” Steve gasped.

 

“Hey, champ!” Bucky laughed, leaning over.

 

“I wanna see!” Rebecca called.

 

Bucky lifted her up out of her high chair and put her on his knee. Georgie waved his fists and Rebecca caught them, holding them in her hands.

 

“Hi, baby!” Rebecca said. “You don’t have any teeth.”

 

“Neither did you when you were born,” Bucky pointed out.

 

Georgie gurgled. Rebecca giggled and waved his hands for him.

 

“He’s so sweet,” Ma said quietly.

 

Bucky leaned over and kissed Steve’s cheek. “Just like his ma,” he said.

 

Steve blushed and mock-shoved him off. Bucky moved his chair to right beside Steve’s and grinned down at their son.

 

“Adorable,” Bucky murmured.

 

“I think he’s funny-looking,” Rebecca said. “He’s squishy!”

 

“So are you!” Steve told her, pinching her cheek and making her giggle.

 

Bucky tossed an arm around Steve’s shoulder and kissed his hair. “We make adorable kids,” he murmured.

 

Steve glanced up, grinning. Bucky kissed his mouth, letting it linger, and Rebecca giggled. Steve grabbed Bucky’s lapel and tugged on it.

 

“Should get dressed for church,” he murmured.

 

“Sir, yes, sir,” Bucky answered softly.

 

*

 

On the eighth day after the birth, Steve and Bucky and their whole family stood at the altar at Saint Barlaam’s with Rabbi Halevi. They’d dressed Rebecca up in a frilly white dress and a hat with flowers. Grigory and Anya served as the _kvatters,_ Alian was the _sandek,_ and Pietro was the standing _sandek._ Rabbi Halevi performed the circumcision himself, their parish’s trained _mohel,_ and announced the baby’s name to the church.

 

All of the Romanoffs and Bucky’s parents worked together to provide the food for the meal after the ceremony. The church gathered, Jewish and Orthodox together, to celebrate. Steve positively glowed throughout the day, the picture of deserved pride.

 

A few people congratulated Bucky on having made such a swift recovery from his illness and for not getting his Omega or daughter sick in the process. Bucky just smiled and thanked them.

 

Peggy did attend, though briefly. There was a situation a little farther north she had to take care of, she said. Bucky was just glad there was nothing more he could do for his country.

 

At the end of the day, everyone went home. Pietro and Wanda went back to Alian’s house. Bucky’s parents were still in the guest room, but they were looking at homes in the area. Bucky’s sister would be coming up in the spring and with her husband and child, there wouldn’t be quite enough room for everyone in Steve and Bucky’s house.

 

“Especially not if Number Three’s on their way,” Steve commented dryly.

 

Bucky just rolled his eyes, though he had a very fair point.

 

At the end of the day, Rebecca settled down in the nursery. Georgie was put in the bassinet by the bed. Steve sat up in bed with the Bible and his rosary, while Bucky spread out next to him and tucked his arms under his head.

 

“Buck?” Steve broke the gentle silence.

 

“Hmm?” he answered.

 

Steve put his Bible down and leaned over him, smiling. “I love you.”

 

Bucky grinned slowly and lifted a hand to cup the back of Steve’s neck. “Love you, too, angel,” he answered in a soft voice, then pulled him into a kiss.

 

“Lemme turn the light out,” Steve murmured.

 

“Kay,” Bucky replied.

 

He laid still while Steve switched off the bedside lamp and put away his rosary and Bible. Bucky held out his hand when Steve shifted down the bed to lie back, then pulled him into his side. Steve let out a gentle sigh and tossed an arm across Bucky’s waist, nuzzling his cheek into his shoulder. Bucky kissed his hair.

 

“Baby’s asleep,” Steve said quietly.

 

“Uh-huh,” Bucky answered.

 

Steve kissed Bucky’s shoulder, then pushed up and rolled on top of him. Bucky raised his eyebrows, a smile growing, and Steve winked at him.

 

“Better get going on number three, right, Daddy?” he whispered.

 

Bucky slid his hands under Steve’s nightshirt. “Babydoll, you got no idea,” he murmured, then pulled Steve into a kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _so next chapter's an epilogue and we're gonna have a few looks at the rest of their lives, and then that's the end! god this has been a long time in coming. i actually started writing this fic right after i finished[intertwined](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13423143/chapters/30760317), before i even started working on the sequel to intertwined. definitely been a long time in coming._
> 
>  
> 
> _minor disclaimer, i'm not jewish, i didn't go in depth to the brit milah bc of that. i got all the info on it from thisarticle. thank you for reading!_


	29. epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _so, technically it's thursday morning, but who's counting, right? herein lies the epilogue, the final chapter, and ohmygod, have I been waiting forever to throw these bits of knowledge at you. enjoy_

##  _ epilogue _

  
  


**_[january 30th, 1954]_ **

 

“Hey, hey, hey, whose shoes are these?” Bucky shouted up the stairs at large. “Rebecca Joan! Are these your shoes?”   


 

“No!” Rebecca shouted back.

 

“You haven’t even seen them!” Bucky retorted. “Come down here and take care of these!”

 

“They’re not mine!” Rebecca yelled.

 

“Hey, don’t talk back to me like that!” Bucky shouted. “Come here!”

 

Steve, carrying the screaming baby, pushed past him and started going up the stairs, calmly kicking the offending shoes towards the shoe cupboard on his way up.

 

“Hey, c’mon!” Bucky protested. “I’m tryna make this a teaching moment!” 

 

“Make it a teaching moment when the kids aren’t scrambling pack last minute for their week at Grandma and Pop-pops,” Steve told him tiredly.

 

“Doll,” Bucky added wearily.

 

Steve raised his eyebrows and shifted Sarah May onto his other hip before starting up the stairs again. Sarah May screamed and wailed all the way up to the third floor. Bucky sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. He heard running footsteps and looked up as Rebecca started stomping her way down to the first floor. Bucky pointed at her dirty trainers.

 

“Are these your shoes?” he asked.

 

“Yes,” Rebecca said sullenly.

 

“Where do they belong?” Bucky asked her.

 

Rebecca huffed and jumped the last couple of steps. She grabbed the trainers and shoved them into her cubby along with the rest of her shoes.

 

“Thank you,” Bucky said. “Are you done packing?”

 

“No,” Rebecca huffed, folding her arms over her chest.

 

“Hey, what’s with the attitude?” Bucky asked, dropping a hand onto her head and mussing up her hair. “You like going to Grandma and Pop-pops’ house!”

 

“But I’ll have to share a room with Annie!” Rebecca whined. “How come Georgie gets his own room at Grandma’s house and I don’t? I’m the oldest!”

 

“Georgie’s the only boy,” Bucky reminded her.

 

“Well, how come I’ve got two sisters and one brother?” Rebecca demanded. “Georgie should have to share a room, too!”

 

“He has to share a room when Aunt Becca and Uncle Art bring their kids over,” Bucky said. “What’s the big deal about Georgie not sharing his room all of a sudden?”   


 

“Well,” Rebecca said, scuffing her socks into the hardwood, “well, well, he was being stupid about it earlier!”   


 

“Hey, what’s Mama said about sayin’ that word?” Bucky scolded her. “It’s not a nice word and you’d better not be callin’ your brother that!”   


 

“But he is!” Rebecca whined, stomping her little foot. “He said he doesn’t have to share his room ‘cause Grandma likes him better!”

 

“Grandma doesn’t have favorites,” Bucky insisted. Then he sighed and dropped his hand onto Rebecca’s shoulder. “I’ll talk to him,” he promised, “go finish packing.”

 

Rebecca just huffed again and started back up the stairs, stomping yet again. Bucky rubbed at his face, then checked his watch and started tiredly up the stairs. Pops would be coming by any minute then to get the kids and Steve was still insisting that they couldn’t send the baby with the rest of the kids and his left eyelid kept twitching.

 

Bucky checked on Georgie and found him playing instead of packing his bag. He knocked on the door and Georgie scrambled up and hid the boxcar behind his back, looking very guilty.

 

“Have you packed?” Bucky asked him.

 

“Um,” Georgie started. “Um, I did, an’ I got clean socks like Mama said an’ Mama said I could play ‘til Pop-pops got here!”

 

Bucky raised his eyebrows. “Did you pack clean underwear?”

 

“Um,” Georgie said.

 

Bucky shook his head and walked over to Georgie’s bed, where he had a tiny suitcase still open and half-filled. Bucky checked the contents, then opened up Georgie’s dresser and started grabbing extra things.

 

“A little bird told me you’d been telling your sisters that Grandma has favorites,” Bucky said then, looking at Georgie with firm eyes. “How’s about that, kiddo?”

 

“Um,” Georgie stammered, shifting nervously. “I didn’t say anything to Annie!”

 

“But you said something to Rebecca,” Bucky answered, shutting the dresser drawers. “What did you tell her?”

 

Georgie looked shamefully down at his feet. “That Grandma said I could have my own room ‘cause she likes me better,” he mumbled.

 

“And that’s not true, is it?” Bucky responded. “Your grandma doesn’t play favorites, does she?”

 

Georgie shook his head. Bucky nodded and dropped the rest of Georgie’s clothes into his bag, then zipped it up for him and put it on the floor.

 

“Go tell your sister you’re sorry,” he said. “And I want you to mean it, buddy, alright?”

 

“Yes, sir,” Georgie mumbled.

 

Bucky crossed to him and bent low to ruffle his hair and kiss his forehead. Then he patted his shoulder and sent him off.

 

“Be quick!” he said. “And tell Rebecca to make sure she’s ready to go, Pop-pops’ll be here soon!”

 

“Okay!” Georgie called as he ran out.

 

Bucky left his son’s room and headed up to the third floor, going straight into his bedroom. Annie was on the floor playing with crayons and a coloring book and Stevie was sitting in the rocking chair, feeding Sarah May. Bucky passed Annie and bent to kiss Steve’s cheek, then squatted down to kneel next to him.

 

“What’re you thinkin’?” he asked quietly.

 

“God, a lot of things,” Steve sighed. “Can’t really keep my head straight.”

 

Bucky picked up his hand and kissed it, smiling at him. “Gonna be tough, huh?” he said, still quiet, still gentle. “Been a while since you had one.”

 

“Who’s fault is that?” Steve countered, giving him a dry smile.

 

Bucky snorted and turned Steve’s hand to nuzzle at his wrist. His scent gland was already producing a subtle cinnamon and sugar scent, signaling the heat that was just a few hours away. Steve hadn't had one since before Georgie was born and this one’s taken them by surprise; hence why they’re scrambling to send the kids to Bucky’s parents’ place so they’ll have the house to themselves.

 

“You know the baby’d be fine with my Ma and Pop,” Bucky reminded Steve gently.

 

“Yeah, I know, but I’ll still worry,” Steve insisted, even hugging Sarah May closer to him; she gurgled and detached to look round and Steve brushed at her hair with a pout. “She’s too little, Buck,” he said.

 

“She’s almost a year old,” Bucky pointed out.

 

Steve looked back at him and just pouted. He hugged the baby to him and rested his cheek on her head and Sarah May looked down at Bucky with milk dribbling down her chin. She waved a little and stuck her hand in her mouth. Bucky sighed and touched her back, dragging his scent into her onesie.

 

“You’re not gonna be in a fit state t’a feed ‘er,” Bucky pointed out. “I really think we should let my parents take her, too.”

 

“She’s so little,” Steve whined.

 

Bucky kissed his palm. “I know,” he said, “believe me, I’d prefer to keep all the kids here. We’re just not prepared to handle your heat and the kids at the same time.”

 

Steve hugged the baby tighter. Bucky pushed up and kissed Steve’s head, then, just as he did, a car outside honked.

 

“That’s Pops,” Bucky said. Then, louder, “Annie, can you clean up your coloring? It’s time to go to Grandma and Pop-pop’s house, okay?”

 

“Okay, Papa!” Annie said happily, pushing up without any protest. 

 

“Go downstairs,” Bucky added. “Tell your sister to let Pop-pop in.”

 

“Okay!” Annie said again, waving as she ran out of the room.

 

“Could Winifred bring her back if I miss her?” Steve asked Bucky quickly.

 

Bucky knelt down in front of Steve, taking his hand in both of his. “I’m sure she would,” he said. “She’d completely understand.”

 

“And you promise she’ll be okay?” Steve asked, eyes big. “She’s never been away from us before, Buck, what if she gets scared?”

 

“Rebecca and Annie and Georgie will be with her,” Bucky reminded him. “And she loves Grandma, don’t you, lil’ Strawberry?” he added, reaching up to tweak Sarah May’s nose; she squealed and grabbed his finger, immediately sticking it in her mouth. “She’ll be fine,” Bucky told Steve again.

 

“Okay,” Steve said. “Okay, but I want Winifred to bring them back for supper, okay? All of them! Even if I’m outta my mind, I wanna see them!”

 

“Of course!” Bucky said quickly. “Of course they can bring them back for supper, hey, I’ll be missin’ them, too.”

 

“Okay,” Steve mumbled. “Okay, George can take the baby, too.”

 

Bucky pushed up and kissed Steve’s forehead. “I love you, angel,” he said. “It’s gonna be fine, alright?”

 

Steve nodded, then looked up at him, grimacing. “I’m already wet,” he complained.

 

Bucky chuckled and kissed his cheek. “Don’t know what you’re complainin’ ‘bout, sugar,” he murmured.

 

Steve blushed and shoved him off. Bucky just kissed his lips, then took Sarah May from his arms and settled her against his chest. Steve looked sad, but Sarah May didn’t protest at all, she just settled for Bucky.

 

“It’ll be fine,” Bucky told Steve. “I’m gonna see the kids off, okay? You wanna get in the bath?”

 

Steve nodded. Bucky offered him a hand up, then leaned in to kiss his cheek again before walking out with the baby. He already had a bag for her downstairs, as he’d been optimistic about persuading Steve to let her go, so Bucky just went straight downstairs again.

 

His pop was in the front hallway, helping Georgie put his shoes on. Bucky waved and stepped around Georgie, looking around for the girls.

 

“Got the little ladies loaded up already,” Pa said, shooting Bucky a smile. “This lil’ fella had t’a use the John ‘fore we left.”

 

“Hey, good job, pal,” Bucky told Georgie, bending and ruffling his hair. “You talk to your sister like we talked about?”

 

“Yeah,” Georgie said, grinning up at him. “She said she forgive me.”

 

“Good,” Bucky said. “You’re gonna be on your best behavior for Grandma and Pop-pops, right?”

 

“Yeah!” Georgie repeated.

 

“Good,” Bucky said again. “Listen, Pa –”

 

“Baby’s staying?” Pa guessed.

 

“Nah, I managed to convince Stevie t’a let ‘er go,” Bucky said. “But he wants youse to bring all the kids back for supper every day, an’ I’m partial to the idea.”

 

“We can do that,” Pa promised him, straightening up. “Hey, Junior, go get in the car, alright?”

 

“Okay!” Georgie said, pushing up and running off.

 

Bucky shifted Sarah May onto his hip, then grabbed the diaper bag and handed it over to his father. “We’re real grateful that you ‘n’ Ma can do this, Pop.”

 

“Hey, it’s no trouble,” Pa said with a smile. “You kids take care’a yourselves, now, hear?”   


 

Bucky rolled his eyes. “I’m not gonna discuss this with you, Pa,” he said, “not happening.”

 

His father laughed. Sarah May giggled and stuck her hands into her mouth, grinning and showing off her baby teeth. Bucky at last reluctantly passed her over and Pa settled her on his hip.

 

“Say bye-bye to your pop,” Pa told her. “Say bye-bye?”

 

“Bye-bye, honey,” Bucky told her, leaning in and kissing her cheek. “Be good for Grandma an’ Pop-pops.”

 

Sarah May waved a little. Bucky chuckled, then walked his father and daughter out to the car. He found Rebecca, Georgie, and Annie in the backseat, all talking loudly about what they wanted for supper. Bucky leaned down and looked into the car, slowly catching all of their attention.

 

“I want you guys on your best behavior for your grandparents,” he said. “Youse guys are gonna have supper with me and Ma while you’re gone ‘cause Ma an’ I are gonna miss you, an’ we’ll wanna know all about the fun you’re havin’ at Grandma and Pop-pops’ house, okay?”

 

“Okay!” the kids all answered him.

 

“Mama okay?” Annie asked him, looking up at him wide-eyed.

 

“Mama’s just under the weather,” Bucky told her. “He’ll be fine, though, I promise you.”

 

Annie stuck her hands out. Bucky leaned into the car and carefully hugged her, making sure to plant a kiss on her cheek.

 

“We’ll see you tomorrow,” he said. “Be good!”

 

“Bye!” the kids called as Bucky straightened up and shut the car door.

 

Sarah May waved at him from her car seat and Bucky stuck his head through the window to give her a kiss. His father got into the car and started it and Bucky backed off, stepping backwards towards the house as he waved at the car. His three older children waved at him through the windows as his father drove off, and once they were around the block, Bucky headed back into the house. He locked the front door behind him, then went around and checked all the locks on all the windows and doors, slowly making his way up to the third floor.

 

Finally, Bucky returned to his bedroom and headed into the bathroom, where he could hear water running. Steve had taken his suggestion and was immersed in hot water already, bath bubbles, unfortunately, blocking Bucky’s view of his flushed, naked skin.

 

“Hey, sweetheart,” Bucky said softly, walking up to the tub. “How’s it feelin’?”

 

Steve opened his eyes and looked up at Bucky, looking tired. He shrugged and sank a little deeper into the bath, sighing.

 

“Miss the babies,” he mumbled. “Sarah May’s almost a year old, Buck.”

 

Bucky knelt down next to the tub and folded his hands on the side of it, nodding. “Just a couple weeks away,” he agreed.

 

Steve turned his big blue eyes on Bucky again. “I want another one,” he said with a pout.

 

Bucky snorted and grinned at him. “Doll, I’m pretty sure that’s the heat talkin’.”

 

“It hasn’t even started yet!” Steve insisted, twisting in the water to rest his cheek on Bucky’s arm. “Please? I wanna give you another baby, Daddy.”

 

“Christ, you’re gonna kill me,” Bucky muttered, lifting a hand to cup Steve’s cheek. “You want me t’a knock you up again, Ma?”

 

“Please, Daddy?” Steve whispered.

 

Bucky brought their lips together and kissed Steve hard. “Gimme a second,” he said, “I’ll join you.”

 

Steve grinned and settled into the bubbles again. Bucky got up and stripped down efficiently, leaving his clothes in a mess on the floor, but he wasn’t trying to set any examples just then. Steve twisted around in the water again, getting on his knees, and as Bucky kicked off his pants, Steve grabbed him by the dick and started kissing it.

 

“You wanna play with that, sugar?” Bucky asked him, chuckling. “Don’t want me t’a get in there with you yet?”

 

Steve hummed a little. Bucky leaned on the edge of the bathtub, watching as Steve kissed up and down his dick, just mouthing at it; strange on its own, Steve couldn’t stand the taste of spunk or even precum, not since New York. Bucky threaded his hand through Steve’s hair, already a little damp.

 

“You enjoyin’ yourself?” he asked, smiling a little. “You want me to get in yet?”

 

Steve shook his head, sitting up more. He grabbed Bucky’s hip with one hand and the other he wrapped around Bucky’s deflated knot; he opened his mouth and licked right over the head of Bucky’s cock.

 

“Shit,” Bucky swore, grabbing onto the edge of the bathtub to steady himself. “Fuck, honey, you don’t gotta do that –”

 

“Shush,” Steve chastised him. “I’m fine, I wanna try it.”

 

“Stevie,” Bucky just said, a little overwhelmed.

 

Steve glanced up at him, then brushed his open lips across Bucky’s slit. His eyes fluttered shut and he pulled back for a second, swallowing visibly, then he opened his mouth again and took Bucky’s cockhead past his lips, cushioning his tongue along the underside of the shaft. Bucky let out a groan and dropped his head back, leaning his knees against the bathtub; he let go of Steve’s hair and cupped the side of his neck again, sweeping his thumb under his Omega’s ear. Steve rolled his tongue and swallowed, then did it again, tightening and relaxing his cheeks and lips in a rhythm. Bucky groaned again, startled by how good it felt, and accidentally flexed his hips.

 

His dick hit the back of Steve’s throat and Steve gagged immediately, shoving back and off. Bucky yanked himself backwards at the same time, already spitting out “Sorry, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to do that –” as Steve coughed and fell back against the other wall of the bathtub, grabbing at his throat. 

 

Bucky dropped to his knees outside the bathtub, reaching out. “I’m so sorry,” he said again. “Are you okay?”   
  


Steve nodded, though his eyes were watering and he looked suddenly pale. Bucky hesitated nervously, holding his hands out.

 

“Can I get in?” he asked. “Or do you – do you need to get out, are you gonna be sick –?”

 

“No,” Steve cut him off, rasping. “No, just – C’mere –”

 

Bucky pushed up and clambered a little hastily into the bathtub, sloshing water over the sides and splashing the floor. He dropped onto his hip and then shifted onto his ass, extending one leg and holding the other back with his palm wrapped around his knee, still reaching out for Steve. Steve coughed again and cleared his throat, then moved, sloshing water again, to occupy the space between Bucky’s legs. Bucky let go of his knee, letting his foot slide down the bathtub, and pulled Steve against his chest, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. Steve rested on his hip and put his cheek on Bucky’s breast, taking in a long, trembling breath.

 

“I’m sorry,” Bucky repeated softly, pressing his cheek against Steve’s hair. “I didn’t mean to do that, sweetheart, I wasn’t thinking.”

 

“It’s okay,” Steve mumbled. “I’ll – I’ll try again another time –”

 

“You don’t need to try at all,” Bucky reminded him, lifting his cheek to look down at Steve in worry. “I don’t care, you don’t gotta do that for me at all –”   


 

“No, it’s not for you,” Steve interrupted him. He nodded once, swallowing again, then just sagged against Bucky’s chest, his eyes shutting. “I used to like it,” he mumbled.

 

Bucky stared sightlessly into the water, absently caressing Steve’s shoulder. “Yeah?” he answered softly.

 

Steve nodded again. “I just thought I could get over –” he mumbled. “I want to. It’d be nice to suck you off,” he said, nudging his cheek against Bucky’s chest with a soft smile. “Be nice to do it for you,” he murmured, “I just – Need to take my time.”

  
  
“Okay,” Bucky answered quietly. He kissed Steve’s hair again. “Whatever you wanna do, babydoll, I’ll happily go along.”

  
  
“‘Course you would,” Steve snorted. “Bet’cha’d love me t’a suck your dick.”  


 

Bucky grinned a little and hugged him tightly. “Only if you’d enjoy doing it,” he insisted.

 

Steve grabbed Bucky’s hand and kissed his palm, then nuzzled against the inside of his wrist. Bucky folded their fingers together and kissed Steve’s forehead; Steve looked up then and Bucky quickly caught him in a kiss.

 

“How far off’s the fever?” Bucky asked him.

 

Steve hummed and settled against his chest again. “Lil’ while,” he murmured. “Use up the hot water first.”

 

“Whatever you want, Ma,” Bucky assured him.

 

Steve smiled and pressed a kiss to Bucky’s chest. “‘Kay,” he murmured. “I want another baby.”

 

Bucky snorted and tugged Steve up to plant a firm kiss on his lips. Steve giggled back, clearly already loopy with hormones, and flung his arms around Bucky’s neck, sending water and bubbles everywhere.

 

“Yannow,” Bucky started, dragging a finger down Steve’s spine, “a little bird told me today that we got too many daughters.”

 

“Gee,” Steve murmured, straddling Bucky’s lap and sitting upright, his small but perky tits ending up right in Bucky’s face, “I wonder what we could do about that.”

 

Bucky cupped the small of Steve’s back and latched onto one of Steve’s pink and hard nipples, sucking hard to drink up whatever milk the baby hadn't had. Steve groaned and dropped his head back, rolling his hips forward to press his cock against Bucky’s stomach.

 

“There were crows on the telephone lines over the backyard today,” Steve breathed out as Bucky sucked on his tits.

 

Bucky popped off and kissed up Steve’s neck. “How many did’ja see?” he asked in a low voice.

 

Steve grinned down at him, peering through his lashes. “Four,” he said. “Three for a girl and four for a boy.”

 

“Must’a been talkin’ t’a the same little bird I was,” Bucky replied with a grin.

 

Steve giggled and darted in for another kiss. Bucky tightened his arms around him, grabbing the back of his neck and his ass with each hand. As they kissed, mouths open and tongues connecting, the smell of gingerbread grew thicker in the air.

 

“Better get goin’ on that second son, Daddy,” Steve said breathlessly against Bucky’s lips.

 

Bucky just growled and kissed Steve harder.

 

*

 

**_[march 22nd, 1958]_ **

 

“Okay, no, no, three  _ eggs _ ,” Bucky kept telling Winnie. She waved two sticks of butter at him. “I need  _ three eggs _ , sweetheart –”

 

Rebecca shoved three eggs into his hands; Bucky very narrowly avoided dropping them. “Careful!”

 

“Just take the eggs!” Rebecca snapped, striding past him to the fridge. 

 

“Hey, watch your tone, young lady,” Bucky called after her, gesturing with an egg.

 

Winnie poked him with a stick of butter. Bucky sighed, shaking his head, and turned to the counter and the half-done gingerbread dough.

 

“Put the butter on the table, sweetie,” he said to Winnie, carefully cracking an egg.

 

“Butta!” Winnie squealed, poking him with the butter again. Bucky looked up at the ceiling, counted to four, and put the eggs down to pluck the sticks of butter out of her hands. 

 

“Why don’t you go play with your big sister?” Bucky suggested.

 

“No!” Rebecca yelled, but Winnie was already squealing in delight and chasing her out of the kitchen. Bucky gave a satisfied nod and turned back to the gingerbread.

 

“Remind me  _ why _ we’re making  _ gingerbread  _ in  _ June _ ?” Annie asked. Bucky glanced over his shoulder at her and Georgie sitting at the table, cutting out shapes in the dough he’d already made to be baked, then directed his attention back to the dough he was currently working on.

 

“Because Ma likes gingerbread,” Bucky answered. He carefully cracked the second egg into the bowl. “And he’s been feeling off lately.”

 

“Why don’t we make sugar cookies?” Georgie complained.

 

“Because your ma likes gingerbread!” Bucky repeated, more loudly. 

 

“Why?” Annie demanded.

 

“Because,” Bucky muttered. He wasn’t about to tell his 8 and 6-year-old children that it was more  _ Bucky _ that adored gingerbread, and that Steve liked them because Bucky would get in his space and remind him why gingerbread cookies were the best.

 

He was cracking the third egg when the front door opened. With rather a lot of force, too. Bucky was about to throw the shells away and go greet his Omega, but Steve was apparently ahead of him.

 

“JAMES!” Steve screamed.

 

Bucky winced. “Uh-oh.”

 

Annie and Georgie looked over their shoulders, then at him. “Uh-oh,” they repeated. “What did you do?” Annie asked. Georgie just shoved a glob of cookie dough in his mouth and fled the kitchen.

 

Bucky didn’t bother answering Annie, as Steve stormed into the kitchen a second later. He was clearly fuming, and Bucky had no clue what he’d done to anger him. He put the double-baby carrier down on the kitchen table quite gently, fussed at Michael and Oliver’s blankets, then shoved up and  _ glared _ at Bucky.

 

“I’m sorry and I love you,” Bucky said hastily, before Steve could start on whatever tirade he had prepared.

 

“James Buchanan Rogers,” Steve hissed.

 

“I made cookies?” Bucky tried to suggest with a gesture to the gingerbread men on the table.

 

“How?” Steve spat. 

 

Annie looked curiously between them, and Bucky shrugged helplessly; Steve had been at Doc Erskine’s getting a check-up, because he’d been off-color for the past few weeks, but Bucky couldn’t figure out what had happened between Doc’s and home that was his fault. 

 

Steve stalked forward, and Bucky backed up into the counter as Steve waved a slip of paper in the air and shouted: “HOW?”

 

“How what?” Bucky asked exasperatedly. 

 

Steve shoved the paper into his face; Bucky scrabbled to catch it, getting egg on it in the process. 

 

“This is the second time!” Steve yelled.

 

Bucky squinted at the paper, then held it farther from his face to read it better. “Uh,” he said. “Honey, go upstairs,” he called to Annie.

 

“What’s going on?” Annie whined.

 

“Just go upstairs,” Bucky said again. He covered his mouth with a hand so Steve wouldn’t see him smiling.

 

Steve glanced over his shoulder, then crossed his arms over his chest and gave Annie, who hadn’t moved, a glare. “You heard your father!” he snapped. “Go!”

 

“Jeez,” Annie muttered, her chair scraping the floor as she pushed it back.

 

“Watch your language!” Steve called after her as she left.

 

Bucky read over the paper again, shaking his head as he did. He flung an arm over Steve’s shoulders, yanking him against his side despite his squawk of protest, and kissed his forehead.

 

“I love you,” he said.

 

“I fucking hate you,” Steve growled.

 

“I love you anyway,” Bucky said gleefully. He put the paper on the counter and dropped down to kneel in front of Steve, whose glare had softened, and wrapped his arms around his middle to kiss his now-flat but soon-to-be swollen stomach. “Hi, kiddo,” he cooed softly. “Your mama’s not really mad at Papa, don’t worry.”

 

“Hell yes I am,” Steve grumbled, “this is the second time your bits have themselves back together again!”

 

Bucky shook his head, grinning and not a bit bothered by Steve’s ruffled attitude. He kissed his stomach again, nuzzled his face against his shirt and pressed his ear into him, like he could already hear their tenth child’s heartbeat.

 

“How?” Steve muttered yet again. He sighed, seeming more resigned than pissed now.

 

“Must be a miracle, angel,” Bucky said, looking up at him with a grin. 

 

Steve’s glare slipped into a soft smile at last. Bucky kissed his stomach again, then rose from his knees to cup Steve’s face between his palms and kiss his lips sweetly. They parted and Bucky pressed their foreheads together.

 

“I want our money,” Steve grumbled.

 

“I love you,” Bucky swore again.

 

“Love you, too,” Steve mumbled. Bucky kissed his nose and Steve broke into a grin, shaking his head. “Ten kids, I ask you,” he said under his breath. 

 

“Miracles, every one of ‘em,” Bucky said. He kissed Steve on the forehead, both cheeks, then his lips. “And just in time for my birthday, too.”

 

“Hmph,” Steve muttered. “Happy birthday to you, maybe.”

 

“Thank you so much, babydoll,” Bucky answered in a murmur.

 

“Fucking vasectomy,” Steve continued to complain, and Bucky started kissing him again just to shut him up.

 

“Can you two not?” Rebecca’s whining voice broke in.

 

“I changed my mind,” Bucky growled, pulling back from kissing Steve, who sniggered. “Brats, every one of ‘em.”

 

“Nobody to blame but yourself,” Steve declared, turning around and starting to walk away. 

 

Bucky grabbed him by the waist and tugged him back in, hugging him tightly from behind.

 

“Gross!” Rebecca called. She wasn’t even looking, she had her head in the fridge.

 

Bucky ducked his head and made exaggerated kissing noises into Steve’s neck. Steve laughed as Rebecca groaned and slammed the fridge shut.

 

“Hey, go get your sisters and brothers,” Steve said as she left. 

 

“Fine,” Rebecca grumbled, barely audible. 

 

Bucky kissed Steve’s neck for real, enjoying the way he fell pliant in his grip. 

 

“Guys, come to the kitchen!” Rebecca shouted immediately after.

 

“I could’ve yelled,” Steve muttered under his breath. “Go  _ get _ them, I said. What does she do?”

 

“Nobody to blame but me,” Bucky said gleefully.

 

Steve laughed dryly, then tipped his head back and Bucky pressed kisses into his neck.

 

“Pa!” Rebecca whined. 

 

Bucky groaned and dropped his head against Steve’s shoulder.

 

The thunder of the rest of their kids running down the stairs, despite having been told Lord knew how many times  _ not _ to, cut off anything else Rebecca or Steve could complain about. Annie and Georgie burst into the kitchen first, pushing and shoving at each other. Sarah May ducked under their arms, making a beeline for Steve, and Jamesy and Winnie came behind her laughing their heads off as Annie caught Georgie in a headlock and smashed her knuckles into his hair. 

 

“Hey, hey, no rough-housing in the kitchen!” Bucky shouted above the chaos.   


 

Sarah May collided with Steve’s legs, hard enough that she staggered Bucky, and Steve grunted softly before dropping a hand into her hair.

 

“Careful,” Bucky warned her.

 

“Hi,” Sarah May said into Steve’s knee.

 

“Hi, sweetie,” Steve murmured.

 

“We have something to tell you kids,” Bucky said.

 

“We figured,” Annie answered.

 

“Don’t you be smart with me,” Bucky scolded her playfully, wagging a finger at her. 

 

She rolled her eyes, and Bucky rolled his right back. Just like her ma, she was.

 

“What is it?” Georgie demanded, half-bouncing where he stood. “Are we getting a TV?”

 

“No,” Steve said. George visibly deflated. “But we are adding to the family.”   


 

“Are we getting a dog?” Annie squealed.

 

“Doggie!” Jamesy shouted, jumping up and down on the spot.

 

“No,” Bucky said quickly.

 

“Oh,” Rebecca said quietly, then nodded like she understood everything. “Ma’s pissed at you. That makes sense.”

 

Bucky just started grinning. His kids were geniuses, every one of ‘em.

 

“We’re having another baby,” Steve told them.

 

“Baby!” Sarah May gasped, immediately starting to bounce on the spot.

 

“Huh?” Jamesy said, tilting his head far to the side.

 

“Oh,” Georgie announced, sounding bored. “That’s all.”

 

“Can we get a puppy instead of a baby?” Jamesy asked.

 

“No, sorry, kiddo,” Bucky told him.

 

Jamesy pouted firmly. Winnie patted him on the arm clumsily.

 

Rebecca nodded sagely. “That’s why you were mad at Pa,” she said.

 

“I wasn’t mad at him,” Steve said with a wave of his hand.

 

“ _ Ja-aa-ames! _ ” Annie mocked in a high, screechy tone.

 

“I don’t sound like that,” Steve protested.

 

“You sound like that,” Bucky said in his ear. 

 

Steve jumped, then glared at him.  “I might still be mad at you,” he threatened, waving a finger at him. “Careful where you tread, James Buchanan Rogers, the couch is up for grabs.”

 

Bucky just grinned and kissed his cheek.  “Sure, doll,” he said. “You’re not that mad at me.”

 

Steve rolled his eyes. “We’re having words later,” he muttered.

 

“Are they nice words?” Bucky murmured in his ear and Steve jumped again.

 

“Can we go if you’re gonna be all flirty?” Rebecca asked.

 

“Yeah, it’s really gross,” Annie agreed.

 

Steve elbowed Bucky in the ribs, who grunted for effect rather than actual pain. “Yes, you can go,” Steve said.

 

“Bye!” Annie and Georgie shouted, turning tail and sprinting back out.

 

“Wait for me!” Jamesy yelled after them, taking off a significantly slower pace. 

 

Rebecca walked out with a wave. Winnie ran up to hug Steve’s knees, however. Sarah May hugged Winnie and lifted her off the floor a little, making Winnie giggle. Bucky smiled down at them.

 

“When’s the baby comin’?” Sarah May asked with big, sincere eyes.

 

“Around Christmas,” Steve told her. 

 

“Why’s it take so long?” Winnie asked.

 

“Babies are very slow, and they’re very bad at keeping track of time,” Steve told her. 

 

“Okay,” Winnie said, accepting Steve’s words with little care, and then squirmed out of Sarah May’s arms ran out of the kitchen. “Race you upstairs!” she yelled.

 

“Last one up’s a rotten egg!” Sarah May answered, taking off after her.

 

Bucky drew Steve in tighter, nuzzling at his neck and Steve tipped his head back again. “So,” Bucky murmured, pressing kisses down his neck, “I’m sleeping on the couch?”

 

“Jury’s out,” Steve mumbled.

 

“Damn,” Bucky said, “no chance I might be able to slip in a last minute plea?”

 

Steve laughed, shaking his head, and Bucky grinned into his neck.

 

“This is why we’re having a tenth kid,” Steve grumbled. “You and your damn smooth-talking.”

 

“You love my smooth-talking,” Bucky protested. He paused to kiss the bondmark on Steve’s neck, to relish the way he sucked in a breath and his eyes fluttered shut. “You love my everything.”

 

“Jury’s still out,” Steve mumbled vaguely.

 

Bucky spun him around and lifted him onto a clean patch of the counter, kissing him soundly immediately and Steve’s fingers curled into his hair.

 

“I’ll persuade you to see my way,” Bucky said against his lips.

 

“Oh, please,” Steve answered. 

 

Bucky kissed him again with glee.

 

*

 

**_[june 10th, 1970]_ **

 

“Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!” Tammy screeched as she toddled at top speed straight for the dancefloor, her flower crown flying straight off her bouncing curls.

 

“Wait, come back!” Bucky called after her, launching out of his seat and chasing after her bent-double, the back of his shirt coming untucked from his trousers.

 

Steve just laughed. Agie, Tammy’s more well-behaved twin, giggled, sitting contently on Steve’s knee.

 

“Cheese!” Sarah May announced as she raised her Polaroid and clicked it.

 

Steve blinked at the flash and glanced over his shoulder as Sarah May watched the camera print the brand new photograph with fascination. She caught the photograph and waved it, watching it develop. Steve, still smiling, turned back to watch Bucky chasing Tammy through the crowd of dancers. Tammy was already quite agile for her age, surprisingly just as agile as Bucky. Or it could’ve been the other way around, he and Bucky weren’t spring chickens anymore. 

 

Steve was nearing his 52nd birthday, less than a month away. Though the tables were set up under a marquee, he had taken off his hat and jacket and scarf and was down to his shirtsleeves, thankfully short; he was very hot and that had nothing to do with the warmth of the sun or the 3-year-old in his lap. Despite being uncomfortable, the hot flash was a wonderful thing. Steve had started getting them the year before and been delighted to learn that the cause of it was menopause. Bucky had been a little less than delighted, though agreed that perhaps it was for the best. Since leaving New York, Steve had had 15 pregnancies and given birth to 17 children. It had been a long time since they gave up on trying to control their offspring through clipping Bucky’s pipes and even longer since Steve told Bucky that they would have no more than 4 kids. 

 

“Ah, I’ve got’cha, ya lil’ monster!” Bucky’s voice rang out above the music and cheer, followed by Tammy’s high-pitched squeals. Steve smiled and craned his neck to peer through the crowds to catch a glimpse of his husband and their youngest brood.

 

The chair that Bucky had been sitting in was then taken; Rebecca dropped into it with a heavy sigh, tucking a strand of delicately curled dark hair behind her ear. She still wore her diadem, but her veil had been removed and the back of her neck was now bare but for her high lace collar. She’d taken her shoes off as well and tied the train of her gown to the sash around her waist.

 

“You never told me I’d have to dance with every male relative,” Rebecca complained.

 

“How was I to know?” Steve defended himself. “Your pa and I didn’t have a wedding, darling.”

 

“Yeah, yeah,” Rebecca said, waving her left hand; her brand new wedding ring sparkled. “Fleeing Nazis and courthouse nuptials, I remember.”

 

“You sound as if we’ve told you the story a dozen times,” Steve retorted, smiling though his daughter still didn’t know even half of the real story. “Where’s your groom?”

 

Rebecca waved vaguely at the dancefloor. “Trying to fit Laurie on one foot and Lily on the other. It’d be cute if they weren’t completely gaga over him.”

 

“They’re five,” Steve reminded her with an eye roll, “they’re gaga over Pa, too.”

 

“Who’s gaga over me?” Bucky spoke up, walking back to the table with Tammy tucked securely on his hip. “If it’s anyone other than your mother, Rebecca, I could not care less.”

 

“Ugh,” Rebecca said, rolling her eyes as she got up from the table, kicking her skirt away from her knees. “Are you two ever going to tone down the flirting? You’re  _ old, _ for Christ’s sake.”

 

“Language,” Steve scolded her.

 

Bucky bent and kissed Steve’s cheek with a smile. “I’m sure I’ll still be flirting with this pretty face when we’re both too blind to see our fingers.”

 

“Then how will you know it’s pretty?” Steve asked him seriously.

 

“Because it’s your face,” Bucky answered, just as serious.

 

Steve actually scoffed and Rebecca threw her hands into the air.

 

“I give up,” she announced.

 

“You act like Ma and Pop aren’t allowed to be in love,” Sarah May piped up. “When I know you and Nathan like to lean all close and press your foreheads together and giggle about absolutely nothing.”

 

Rebecca turned very pink. “That’s different!” she spluttered.

 

“Oh, very different,” Steve agreed sarcastically, lifting an arm to wrap around Bucky’s waist; he also casually dropped his hand into Bucky’s back pocket and squeezed his ass a little. Bucky stiffened appropriately. “The difference,” Steve continued calmly, “is that Pa and I are parents and clearly, every one of you kids were brought in through the window by the Horned God every few years.”

 

“Ma,” Rebecca sighed.

 

“Why else would Cernunnos be called the Horned God?” Steve added

 

Sarah May burst into laughter while Rebecca looked as if she were sucking on a lemon. Bucky chuckled and grabbed an extra chair, swung it around, and plucked Steve’s hand from his back pocket to sit down, still holding onto Tammy despite her courageous attempt to squirm out of his grip.

 

“Well, if that’s the case,” Rebecca declared, “when’s the Horned God bringing the next one, huh, Pa?”

 

“Oh, you’d have to ask Nathan that,” Bucky answered her with a grin, “see, once the firstborn’s wed, the Horned God starts goin’ in through  _ their  _ window.”

 

Rebecca turned red again and spluttered. Steve laughed and Agie squealed, clapping her hands. Tammy imitated a snake and slid out of Bucky’s arms onto the ground.

 

“Oh, no!” Bucky groaned. “Tammy, no, don’t run –”

 

Tammy squealed happily and took off.

 

“I’ll get her,” Sarah May volunteered.

 

“Thanks, honey,” Bucky sighed, reaching up to squeeze her arm as she passed him. “Keep her outta the cake!”

 

Sarah May saluted and disappeared after Tammy. Rebecca sighed and dropped back into the chair she’d just vacated.

 

“I actually wanted to tell you something,” she started, her tone suddenly quite grave. “About grandkids.”

 

Steve raised his eyebrows. “What about them?”

 

“There aren’t going to be any for a while,” Rebecca said firmly. “I decided, and Nathan agrees, that it’s best for me to take birth control for the time being.”

 

“Alright,” Steve said.

 

Bucky grimaced. “I didn’t need to know that,” he muttered. “Thanks, solnishka.”

 

Rebecca grimaced back at him playfully, then sobered and looked into her lap. “I just thought you should know,” she said. “Since – Since the Catholic church is against contraception –”

 

“What does it matter what the Pope says?” Steve cut her off. “It’s utter nonsense, Catholics saying birth control’s a sin, what it really is is them trying to limit our independence,” he insisted. “You have never let anything limit your independence and I should hope that a silly rule about family planning won’t make you start.”

 

Rebecca looked up, her eyes wide. She looked, surprisingly ironically, surprised.

 

“Same goes for Judaism,” Bucky added helpfully. “I don’t know how Nathan feels about Halakhah, but we don’t consider the old rules about that stuff –” he gestured vaguely, looking uncomfortable, “– to really be applicable in the modern world.”

 

Rebecca glanced between them. “You’re okay with this?” she asked, sounding almost like she didn’t believe it.

 

“Of course,” Steve answered. He frowned at Rebecca and Agie made an upset sound, grabbing onto his shirtfront; he began bouncing her automatically. “Did you think we wouldn’t?”

 

“Well –” Rebecca stammered. “Yeah? I mean, you don’t – you don’t use that stuff!”

 

“That’s an assumption, sweetheart,” Steve told her smartly, “what does assuming make out of you and me?”

 

“Ma,” Rebecca sighed.

 

“Did you really think we’d be upset if you don’t want to have kids yet?” Bucky asked her.

 

“I mean, yeah!” Rebecca said. “You have seventeen children, Pa! I thought you were really against not using birth control at all!”   


 

“Well, that’s what assuming gets you,” Steve said, chuckling. “Believe me, we tried to break that machine.”

 

Bucky grimaced again and covered his face with a hand. Rebecca looked at Steve with wild confusion.

 

“We really did!” Steve added, really laughing now. “Your pa had four vasectomies, sweetie! The last one was after Laurie and Lily were born and when I got pregnant with Dennis, we gave up!”

 

“Four?!” Rebecca spluttered.

 

“That’s not the normal thing,” Steve added, holding out a reassuring hand.

 

“If the first one didn’t work,” Rebecca started, then shook her head and leaned back in her chair. “If the first one didn’t work –!” she repeated. “Why did you keep doing it?”

 

“They did work!” Steve insisted. “Doc Erskine’s an excellent doctor, honey, I promise, they worked when he first did them!”

 

Rebecca blinked. She glanced between Steve and Bucky, then, eyes wide, looked at Agie and pointed both hands at her.

 

“How do you exist?” she muttered.

 

Agie looked up at her and stuck her hand into her mouth, blinking. Steve chuckled and cradled her closer.

 

“His bits put themselves back together,” he explained. “It’s just something about your pop, Becks.”

 

“She doesn’t need to know that!” Bucky hissed, dropping his forehead onto Steve’s shoulder.

 

“Shush,” Steve told him, then looked back at Rebecca. “Your sisters don’t think the same thing, do they?”

 

Rebecca looked at him with mild horror melded with disbelief. Steve sighed.

 

“I’ll have to talk to them,” he said. “I was already going to get Annie suppressants before she left for college.”

 

“Wow,” Rebecca whispered, slowly shaking her head. “The things you don’t know.”

 

“And I’ll have you know,” Steve continued, holding a firm finger in his daughter’s direction, “Agie and Tammy are officially never going to have younger siblings,  _ my _ machine’s started to break down and that cannot put itself back together.”

 

Steve felt a vague waft of pouting from Bucky, but it didn’t matter much. Rebecca blinked.

 

“There comes a point when an Omega just can’t keep up,” Steve added. “You’ll get there, too, eventually.”

 

“Okay,” Rebecca exhaled. She put a hand on the table and pushed up. “I’m going to… talk to Nathan. This was… enlightening.”

 

Bucky grimaced yet again. Rebecca grimaced back and turned on her heel, walking away. Bucky nudged Steve’s arm.

 

“You didn’t hafta tell ‘er my bits put themselves back together four times,” he muttered.

 

“She needed to know we really do support her!” Steve insisted. Then smiled. “Besides, the look on her face was hilarious.”

 

Bucky rolled his eyes and pulled Steve’s head down to kiss the top of it. Steve shifted in his chair, adjusting Agie in his lap, and leaned his head on Bucky’s shoulder.

 

“We should dance,” Bucky said quietly.

 

“I’m holding my baby,” Steve answered.

 

“Keaton!” Bucky shouted, waving across the crowd. “C’mere!”

 

Steve hugged Agie close, making her giggle. “I’m holding my baby!” he insisted, even though he was suppressing laughter.

 

Bucky looked at him seriously. “ _ I _ want to hold  _ my _ baby,” he said smartly.

 

Steve snorted and waved their fifth son over. Keaton, scuffing his shoes along the grass, wandered up with his hands in his pockets; his hair had been neat for the ceremony but had long since turned into a mop of curls on the top of his head.

 

“Take your sister for your ma,” Bucky told him.

 

Keaton grimaced, identical to his pop. “I don’t wanna hold Agie,” he complained, “she sticks everything in her mouth!”

 

“Then take her to your grandma,” Bucky said, lifting Agie from Steve’s lap and standing to pass her over. “Your mother owes me a dance.”

 

“Gross,” Keaton muttered, taking Agie and putting her on his hip. “Ma, can I have champagne?”

 

“No!” Steve answered immediately. “And if I see you anywhere  _ near  _ a champagne flute –”

 

“Jimmy gave Michael and Oliver each a glass!” Keaton protested.

 

“What?” Bucky said, raising his eyebrows.

 

Steve grabbed onto Bucky’s arm and stood up on his toes to spot a trace of the oldest twins amongst the guest; Jimmy was, the brat, standing by the punch bowl with a flute of champagne, but he was less inclined to fuss about that since Jimmy was 15. Michael and Oliver were 13, and that made a difference.

 

However, he immediately spotted Annie standing by the identically sheepish faces of Oliver and Michael, holding two glasses and talking very quickly. Steve dropped back onto his heels and patted Bucky’s arm.

 

“Annie’s got them,” he said. “It’s fine.”

 

Bucky relaxed. “Give Agie to Grandma,” he told Keaton again. “Have you danced with your sisters yet?”

 

“I don’t wanna dance with the girls!” Keaton protested.

 

“Too bad,” Bucky told him. “I saw Katie over there looking lonely, ask her to dance.”

 

“I don’t wanna dance with my sister,” Keaton grumbled even as he turned on his heel and began to wander away.

 

“What happened to the lovely little boy that adored his sisters?” Steve sighed, tucking against Bucky’s side.

 

“He hit puberty,” Bucky reminded Steve.

 

“I don’t remember my best friend growing up becoming a grouch when he hit puberty,” Steve quipped.

 

Bucky rolled his eyes and took Steve by the hand and by the waist, pulling him easily onto the dancefloor. “There’s a very easy explanation for that, dollface,” he said as they fell into the easy rhythm of the music, “and it had seventeen kids.”

 

“Six of those are twins!” Steve insisted defensively.

 

“Yes, dear,” Bucky answered with a sappy grin on his face.

 

Steve huffed and wrapped his arms around Bucky’s neck instead of taking his shoulder. “You said you were gonna hold your baby,” he countered. “Hold me, jerk.”

 

Bucky wrapped his arms around Steve’s back, grinning like a lovesick fool still, laugh lines and crow’s feet and all. “Whatever you say, punk,” he murmured.

 

With a grin, Steve lifted onto his toes. Bucky leaned down and they met in the middle in a gentle kiss. One of Bucky’s hands strayed lower than Steve’s waist, and Steve grabbed it just in time to keep him from grabbing his ass in full view of all their guests.

 

“Thank Jesus for menopause,” Steve grumbled, looking at Bucky crossly.

 

Bucky sighed wistfully. “Would’a been nice t’a see you go all soft one more time,” he murmured.

 

“I am soft,” Steve countered, still trying very hard to be cross. “Seventeen babies, fourteen pregnancies, are you kidding me, jerk?”

 

Bucky hugged him tighter and touched their foreheads together, grinning. “You know I love it,” he said. “Gorgeous lil’ handles for me t’a hold onto, those pretty marks from havin’ all my babies, nice big ass, huh? What’s not t’a love?”   
  


Steve flushed bright red and buried his face in Bucky’s shirt to hide the blush. Bucky chuckled and hugged him close, resting his cheek on Steve’s head.

 

“Pretty lil’ back dimples,” Bucky murmured, his voice just above Steve’s ear, “all them curves you got now, your pretty lil’ tits? How could I not love every part’a you, Stevie?”

 

“Gonna get me hot,” Steve grumbled. “An’ not a hot flash.”

 

“Oh, I’d better stop, then,” Bucky agreed, his voice teasing. “Least for now.”

 

Steve scoffed. “Only ‘cause you know everybody’d be able t’a smell it an’ you’re a possessive, jealous bastard,” he accused.

 

“Hey, don’t that Bible you read every night say the Lord’s a jealous man for his bride?” Bucky teased. 

 

He pulled Steve back abruptly and spun him around, making Steve get a little dizzy, then tugged him back in and Steve suddenly found himself falling; Bucky dipped him, leaning him over his knee, and he grinned down at him.

 

“I only like keepin’ all’a what’s mine t’a myself,” Bucky said.

 

“You’d better not drop me,” Steve threatened weakly.

 

“Have I ever let you down?” Bucky asked him.

 

Steve blushed for no reason whatsoever. Bucky grinned at him again, then lifted Steve back onto his feet and twirled him yet again, bringing him in again with his back to Bucky’s chest, crossing Steve’s arms and holding their wrists together. Steve looked over his shoulder up at Bucky and Bucky winked.

 

“The kids are spendin’ the night with Aunt Natasha an’ Uncle Clint,” he reminded Steve. “Place’ll be all to ourselves.”

 

“Oh, whatever will we do with all that empty house?” Steve bemoaned.

 

“I got an idea or two,” Bucky teased.

 

Steve rolled his eyes. “Thank Jesus, Mary, and Joseph for menopause,” he whispered to the heavens.

 

Bucky laughed and twirled him again.

 

*

 

**_[march 23rd, 2008]_ **

 

“Hey, man,” Ned said, dropping into the seat next to Peter on the bus. “You gonna stop at my house and help me build the Death Star?”   


 

“Nah,” Peter answered, leaning back in his chair. “I’m old-people-sitting today. Grandpop and Grand-Omega Rogers.”

 

“Yikes,” Ned hissed through his teeth. “Didn’t your aunt and uncle, like, talk about moving them to an old-folks home?”

 

“No,” Peter sighed, “Aunt Tammy and Uncle Ernest suggested it a while back, but Aunt May’s on the no-senior center list, and they live with us, anyway.”

 

“But they’re, like, a century old,” Ned insisted.

 

“I know!” Peter agreed. “Grandpop was in World War 2, he’s so old!”

 

“I could bring the Death Star to your place,” Ned suggested.

 

Peter shrugged. “I’ll ask if it’s okay and give you a call.”

 

Ned held out his hand. Peter fist-bumped him, then slouched in his seat and let his head drop onto Ned’s shoulder.

 

“Though, your grandparents are pretty cool,” Ned said absently. “It took guts to be gay back in the 50s.”

 

“My grandma’s an Omega,” Peter pointed out.

 

“But he’s still a dude!” Ned insisted, elbowing Peter. “You’re still a dude! If you dated an Alpha dude, it’d be queer still!”

 

Peter shrugged. “I guess,” he mumbled. “I don’t know,” he added, “I think they’re kinda weird. Did you know they hate America?”   


 

“Like, the US?” Ned replied, frowning.

 

“Yeah,” Peter said. “Like, my Aunt Lilian wanted to go to New York for college forever ago, but they wouldn’t let her. And when Aunt May and Uncle Ben and me went to NYC a few years ago for New Year’s Eve, they offered to let Gran and Gramps tag along for free, but they said no!”

 

“I dunno, dude,” Ned said. “Maybe they didn’t wanna stand around in the cold.”

 

“Maybe,” Peter muttered. “I just hate having to babysit them. They’re old, they’re not riddled with dementia! They can take care of themselves!”   


 

“Totally with you,” Ned said. “Hey, what if I just showed up?”

 

Peter looked at him, thought about it, then grinned. “Do it,” he said. “Like May and Ben’ll actually care. Gran and Gramps like you, anyway.”

 

“Alright!” Ned laughed, raising his hand for a high-five.

 

At the end of the bus ride, Peter and Ned got off together a few blocks away from Peter’s house. They joked and laughed the walk there, and when they got there, there weren’t even any cars in the driveway.

 

“So Gran and Gramps were home alone all day anyway!” Peter said in exasperation. “What do I gotta do with them, then?”

 

Ned just shrugged.

 

Peter unlocked the front door and let Ned in behind him. “Hello!” he shouted. “It’s Peter!”

 

“And Ned!” Ned added.

 

Nobody answered them, probably because both his grandparents were nearly deaf. Peter glanced at Ned and shrugged, then waved him on and headed down the hallway, through the kitchen into the living room.

 

“Hey,” Peter said again as he entered, “I’m home.”

 

Gramps looked up from a book and waved a little. Gran, slumped on the sofa next to him, smiled at both of them but didn’t move much; he had bad arthritis in his hands, Peter didn’t hold it against him.

 

“We’re watching the news,” Gran said, his cracked voice a little louder than necessary. “How was school?”

 

“Fine,” Peter answered, striding in. “Ned came over.”

 

“Oh, hi!” Gran said, leaning to the side to smile at Ned now. “Bucky, look, Peter brought a friend!”   


 

Gramps looked up, squinting. “What?”

 

Gran turned to face him. “Peter brought his friend, Ned!” he said very loudly.

 

“Oh,” Gramps said, then squinted at Ned instead. “Hello, champ.”

 

“Hi, Mr. Rogers,” Ned said, waving.

 

Peter dropped his school bag and dropped down onto the sofa not occupied by his grandparents. “Why are you watching the news?” he asked.

 

“That Obama fellow was talking about something,” Gran told him, still smiling brightly. “I recorded it! Do you want to see?”

 

“No, it’s fine,” Peter said quickly, getting up again to find the remotes. “Do you mind if we watch something else?”

 

“Oh, well –” Gran started.

 

_ “We bring you a brand new bulletin from the Pentagon,”  _ the newscaster announced, with that fancy new news story sound effect that made everybody look up.  _ “The head of SHIELD, Director Nicholas Fury, has approved the declassification of several Cold War and World War 2 reports –” _

 

“Did you get the new episode of  _ Doctor Who  _ yet?” Ned asked as Peter looked under Gran and Gramp’s sofa for the remote.

 

“Wait, wait, don’t change it!” Gran cut off the end of Ned’s sentence.

 

Peter yanked his head out from under the couch. Gramps had dropped his book and was squinting at the TV and Gran had sat up, actually looking at the TV instead of dozing off on his husband’s shoulder. Peter glanced at Ned, who shrugged, and then focused on the news program.

 

_ “All of the declassified documents are available to the public in SHIELD’s public files, both on paper and on the Web,”  _ the newscaster read aloud in a dull monotone.  _ “Among these is evidence that Captain James Barnes, also called Captain America, did not act alone in the assassination of Adolf Hitler and Dr. Johann Schmidt.” _

 

Gramps grabbed the TV remote from the corner table beside him and held it up. “We don’t need to watch this,” he said as he shakily pointed the remote.

 

“No, no, I want to hear it!” Gran snapped at him; he grabbed at the TV remote, trying to tug it out of Gramps’s hands.

 

“It doesn’t matter!” Gramps answered, now fighting to keep the remote.

 

“Hey, hey, guys!” Peter interrupted, jumping in to take the remote from both of them before one of them broke a hip or something. “You’re supposed to be loving and faithful or something,” he added, backing up with the remote.

 

“Turn it off,” Gramps said firmly.

 

“Leave it on!” Gran snapped.

 

_ “– notes written and left by Agent Margaret Carter reveal that the daring assassination was all possible due to –” _ _   
_

 

“Oh, God,” Gramps said in a groan, covering his face.

 

Peter backed up even more, bewildered, but taken aback by what he was hearing. Ned was staring open-mouthed at the TV and Peter, remote clutched to his chest, turned around.

 

_ “– a prostitute forced into service of the Nazi regime over New York,” _ the broadcaster said.  _ “Agent Carter had only one photograph included in her notes of the Omega known as Roger Smith –” _

 

The broadcaster was transitioned to a corner of the screen and a grainy, black-and-white photo was blown up on the screen instead. Peter squinted, but the subject of the photo was looking away from the camera, and all that was visible was his back; he was shirtless, and after a second, Peter realized the weird shadows down his back were his ribs and spine. His skin clung to his bones that badly.

 

“Oh, God,” Gramps uttered. “They can’t show that!”

 

“He’s not naked,” Peter defended the photo. “It’s just his back.”

 

_ “Roger Smith was favorited by Dr. Schmidt,” _ the broadcaster continued,  _ “and due to this relationship, Smith was able to pass secrets from Hitler’s inner circle to the American military, including the exact time, date, and location where Hitler would set foot in New York; leading to Captain America’s famous sniper-shot that killed him, Dr. Schmidt, and two other inner circle members. Roger Smith was supposedly at the docks to greet Hitler when he arrived, to quote Agent Carter’s notes, ‘Schmidt collected Smith the morning of. He forced him into shackles, locked his neck in a bond-collar, and forced him to wear nothing but a silk negligee to greet the Fuhrer. Schmidt planned to present Smith to Hitler as a gift in order to garner the Fuhrer’s favor. Smith was fortunate enough to spit on Hitler’s dead body as it fell.’” _

 

“That’s so cool!” Ned whispered.

 

“They shouldn’t be saying this!” Gramps suddenly shouted. “On public television, anyone can see it, why the hell was it even declassified?”

 

“It’s been sixty years,” Gran said quietly.

 

“Why’s it bad that it was declassified?” Peter asked his grandparents.

 

Gramps locked his jaw and looked away. Gran wouldn’t look away from the TV.

 

_ “Agent Carter made one final entry in Roger Smith’s file in February of 1945,” _ the broadcaster continued.  _ “Like Captain Barnes, Roger Smith didn’t live to see the United States freed of the invading forces they worked so hard to undermine. According to an unnamed source, Roger Smith died of an overdose, just a month after Hitler’s assassination. Agent Carter did not say if the overdose was accidental or intentional, but given her reports of the treatment Smith suffered, it’s highly possible that it was inten–” _

 

“Turn it off!” Gramps suddenly yelled. “I don’t want to hear anymore, turn it off!”

 

“What’s wrong?” Peter demanded. “It’s just an old war story!”

 

Gramps shoved up from the couch with surprising speed, Peter almost tripped over the coffee table, but his grandfather grabbed him by the arm and righted him, not without snatching the TV remote away from him. He aimed it at the TV set and, smashing the power button under his thumb, switched the newscast off.

 

An abrupt silence hung over the living room. Gramps put the remote down on the coffee table, then turned back and lowered himself back onto the sofa. He wrapped his arm around Gran, who hadn't moved since Peter took the remote away from him. Peter looked at him now and with a jolt, realized he was pale and shaking. He tugged out his phone and flipped it open, not sure if he should call his aunt or 911.

 

“You kids go play somewhere else,” Gramps said, his voice soft now. “Upstairs or something.”

 

“Okay,” Ned answered quietly.

 

“Should –” Peter started, holding up his phone.

 

Gramps shook his head. “Just go upstairs,” he insisted.

 

Peter glanced back at Gran. He hesitated, then nodded and took a step back. Ned grabbed his arm and, with a jerk of his head, Peter steadied himself and turned to leave. He glanced over his shoulder one last time and saw his grand-Omega turned into his grand-Alpha’s side, shoulders trembling. Peter waved Ned on, around the corner leading out of the kitchen and headed straight for the stairs. He pressed 2 and call on his phone, speed-dialing Aunt May.

 

_ “Hi, this is Sarah-May Parker, how can I help you?” _

 

“It’s Pete,” Peter started. “Um, there’s something wrong with Gran.”

 

_ “What?”  _ Aunt May answered, suddenly frantic.  _ “What, what happened? Did you call for an ambulance?” _ __   
  


“No, he’s not hurt!” Peter said quickly, walking into his bedroom. “He’s – I don’t know, they were watching the news when we came in and then there was the bulletin on all the files SHIELD declassified and Gramps freaked out and now I think Gran is crying?”

 

_ “What?” _ Aunt May repeated, less worried, more confused.

 

Peter fell onto his bed as Ned sat down in the desk chair. “Yeah,” he continued. “They were talking about Captain America and Hitler and stuff, and Gramps got really angry about it for some reason.”

 

_ “Oh,”  _ Aunt May sighed.  _ “Gramps is Jewish, remember? He probably was angry that they were talking about Hitler, a lot of Jews think he should’ve been captured alive and held responsible for the Holocaust.” _

 

Peter bit his lip. “I guess,” he muttered.

 

_ “Ben and I’ll be home soon,”  _ his mom continued.  _ “We’re bringing dinner home, so, let Gramps cool off and then go ask him and Gran what they want to eat.” _

 

“Okay,” Peter replied. “Oh, uh, Ned is here.”

 

_ “What a surprise,” _ Aunt May drawled sarcastically, then laughed.  _ “Find out what he wants to eat, then, too. Call me back later. Love you!” _

 

“Love you,” Peter answered, then dropped the phone and hung up.

 

“So,” Ned started slowly.

 

Peter shrugged. “Aunt May said Gramps is probably still mad the Americans killed Hitler instead of taking him captive and making him pay for murdering all the Jewish people,” he said. “Gramps is Jewish.”

 

“Oh,” Ned answered, nodding slowly. “I guess that kinda makes sense?”

 

“What?” Peter replied, frowning.

 

“Ehh,” Ned mused. “He seemed more mad about that Roger Smith thing than anything else.”

 

Peter frowned more, thinking it over. “Yeah,” he agreed. “Yeah, and the – the picture? It was just the Omega’s back, so what if he wasn’t wearing a shirt?”

 

“Maybe he’s just weird,” Ned added with a shrug. “You sure your grand-Omega’s okay, though?”

 

Peter sighed and fell back onto his bed. “He’s okay with Gramps,” he decided. “They’re, like, the ultimate Romeo and Juliet. My Aunt Rebecca still complains about how much they flirt with each other.”

 

“Ew,” Ned laughed, “old people can’t flirt!”

 

“Tell that to my grand-Alpha!” Peter answered, joining Ned’s laughter. “You should hear them sometimes, it’s all  _ Ooh, Stevie, babydoll, have I told you you look gorgeous this morning? _ ”

 

“Gross!” Ned kept laughing, falling back in the chair.

 

“My grand-Omega’s the only old person you’ll ever see blush!” Peter insisted. “And it’s all ‘cause of Gramps whispering sweet nothings in his ear all the time!”

 

“That’s actually really sweet,” Ned chuckled.

 

Peter shrugged. “Yeah,” he agreed again. “I guess, after being married for seventy-odd years, it’s good that they’re still in love?”

 

“I can’t imagine loving the same kind of cereal for seventy years straight,” Ned said in a somber tone.

 

“I could,” Peter countered, “Lucky Charms!”

 

“Gross,” Ned groaned. “Also, it’s like an awful Irish stereotype. You’re part Irish, right?”

 

“That’s the Rogers side of the family,” Peter said, “my aunt, not my uncle.”   


 

“Oh, right,” Ned said, nodding. “Still. Irish by approximation.”

 

“Irish by approximation!” Peter repeated, bursting into laughter.

 

“It rubbed off on you!” Ned insisted, laughing yet again.

 

“Oh, me Lucky Charms!” Peter said in a horrible Irish accent.

 

He and Ned dissolved into laughter. Downstairs, that laughter echoed faintly, just barely audible in the living room. Though their bodies were failing them in most ways, Steve and Bucky still had perfect hearing, no matter what they pretended.

 

“I can’t believe they did that,” Bucky hissed under his breath, still clutching Steve to his chest as best he could. “Any of it! Peggy promised no one would ever know!”

 

“Peggy’s been gone for five years, Buck,” Steve murmured under his breath. “They didn’t know. No one knows? Who would they be protecting after all this time?”

 

Bucky just shook his head. “It isn’t right,” he insisted softly.

 

Steve took in a deep breath. “I’m glad they did,” he said.

 

Bucky looked down at him. Steve nodded, steely.

 

“I’m glad,” he repeated. “It was never fair that Peggy wasn’t recognized for everything she did; she was the reason it all pulled off without a hitch and no one ever knew? No, I’m glad they know now. Peggy deserves it.”

 

Bucky cupped Steve’s cheek, brushing a weak thumb over his fragile skin. “What about you?” he murmured. “You never wanted anyone to know about – about Roger Smith –”

 

“I know,” Steve cut him off in a sigh. “But… It’s been sixty years,” he added, leaning into Bucky’s touch. “We’re gonna kick the bucket any time now.”

 

“What?” Bucky asked, worried again. “What are you saying?”

 

“It’s time for the truth,” Steve said. “Buck, I – I wanna have your name on our headstones, I want the kids to know who we really were. There’s no one left to seek revenge for the Third Reich. We could come out of hiding.”

 

Bucky thinned his lips. He shifted his hand to cup the back of Steve’s neck and pressed a careful kiss to his forehead.

 

“There’s all the art I made when we first left New York,” Steve murmured. “I mean, maybe it’s vain, but I don’t want to destroy any of it or even hide it forever. And what’re the kids gonna think if they see it and don’t know the truth?”

 

“You’re right,” Bucky answered him. “We’ll sort it out, okay?”

 

Steve nodded. He leaned into Bucky’s neck, pressing his nose into the nape and seeking out his scent gland. Withered with age, Bucky’s scent was long since faded, but he could still catch it right against the glands. It was still just as comforting as it’d been sixty years ago.

 

“Everything will be fine,” Bucky said quietly.

 

Upstairs, Ned and Peter were still laughing. Steve smiled a little, nodding into Bucky’s neck. It would be fine. It was fine. It was wonderful; leagues better than it could have been. It wasn’t the report on paper, the death certificates filed in their true names back in New York that had been gathering dust the whole time. It was good.

 

*

 

In late August of 2014, Sarah-May went to wake her parents for breakfast on an as of that moment, ordinary Sunday morning. However, the day turned sad. 

 

The night before, she’d said goodnight to Steve and Bucky and left them alone to read or whatever it was they did before bed, and they’d been both hale and hearty then. Bucky woke up during the night, perhaps around 1 or 2 in the morning, just with a feeling that there was something wrong. As he woke, he felt coldness coming from his beloved. Steve was still pliable then, still curled up next to Bucky’s side, and as Bucky realized what was wrong, he only pulled Steve closer. He did shed a few tears, but wasn’t afraid or worried. He drifted off again, not back to sleep, but to join his Omega in a long-awaited and peaceful death.

 

No autopsy was necessary, but they were examined; the coroner said they’d just died of old age. Steve, probably around midnight, Bucky, by 3 AM. Their children mourned, but they had been prepared; Bucky had been 97 and Steve 96. They’d lived good lives together.

 

Both of them left a last will and testament. Their eldest child, Rebecca, was named executor, and with that task, she was the first to discover the letters their parents had written prior to their deaths.

 

Both letters contained the truth about their identities. It came as a shock to every one of the Rogers children, that their mother had been a prostitute and their father the famous sniper that sparked the end of World War 2. Steve and Bucky provided proof in the form of a letter from Peggy Carter, written before her death, revealing that she had falsified the documents and records to allow Steve and Bucky to escape New York. Howard Stark was still alive and when Rebecca contacted him, he also confirmed the truth.

 

After that was when they found Steve’s paintings. There were dozens; many were innocent, family portraits and loving memories of the kids growing up. Many were not.

 

After much arguing, it was agreed that their parents’ last wishes were that the truth be told. Sarah-May suggested they use Steve’s art to do it. A gallery was rented out and Steve’s paintings were put on display, initially in chronological order of the scenes they showed, starting with the last and going back towards the beginning.

 

The media got a hold of their story before long and inevitably, Steve and Bucky became posthumously famous. The original exhibition of Steve’s artwork becomes a permanent feature in Montreal, and, over time, the arrangement is tweaked and changed until finally, the Rogers’s all agree on the placings.

 

Paintings of Steve and Bucky’s early life are put at the front. The portrait of Sarah Rogers, standing tall like you would expect the nobility of the Renaissance, the rosary she cherished and that Steve left by accident in New York held at her stomach. A painting of Steve and Bucky as young kids, showing off missing baby teeth. Young Rebecca Barnes and Steve, fascinated as Bucky sticks carrots up his nose. Steve and Bucky at a Dodger’s game, wearing memorabilia that they probably hadn't actually had; just artistic license.

 

Then the paintings showing their life in Montreal. Most are sweet, portraits of the children, the family, many paintings of Bucky and the kids, and two that stand out from the rest. One is the small stone planted under the oak tree in the house the Rogers’s grew up in, the name  _ Gabriel  _ engraved on it. The other is a particularly gory portrait of all there was of Gabriel; a little gray lump, about the size of a grape, cradled in Steve’s bloody hands.

 

At the very back of the gallery are the only paintings that show anything from the Nazi invasion of New York. There are seven, the series titled after the fourth painting in it.  _ Like Rahab. _

 

The first is  _ Captain America’s Second Shot. _ After being featured in the New York Times,  _ Captain America’s Second Shot _ is recorded in history books around the world. It doesn’t actually show Bucky taking the shot, or Schmidt dead on the ground; the title seems to imply that the content of the portrait was  _ why  _ Captain America took Schmidt’s life with his second shot. It is a portrait of Schmidt as a monolithic being, towering over Steve, kneeling before him naked as he’d so often been forced to do. The placing of Steve’s head, skin and bone and bruises, and the bare skin of Schmidt’s knees and arms often incite shivers in onlookers.

 

The second is called  _ Bloody Roses. _ It shows an injured Bucky, feverish, pale, twisted in pain on a bare mattress. He’s only wearing boxers in the painting, boxers and white bandages wrapped around his upper thigh. There is very little color in the whole painting, much like the portrait of the lump that was Gabriel, but for the blood bloomed on the pure white cotton of the bandage. Their children recall, their father suffered a bullet-wound during the war that still pained him even until his death.

 

The third is  _ Almost. _ It’s the same bedroom, the same bare mattress, but this time, Steve is in the painting with Bucky. Steve is cradled in Bucky’s arms, straddling his lap, marred by fresh bruises and holding out a hand that has fingers bent the wrong way. The strange thing is not that Steve is naked in the painting, not that he is injured, but that Bucky’s feet are tied to the end of the bed. There are severed ropes at the headboard as well and a strip of cloth lies on the mattress beside them. It’s hypothesized that it’s a gag and that Bucky was restrained and gagged because outside whatever bedroom they were in, Schmidt was causing the fresh injuries that Steve is shown to have.

 

And the fourth, which gave the series its name. It is a tall, almost accurate to life-size portrait of Steve, but his face is not visible. His chin is lifted, showing the viewer his neck, which is trapped in an archaic, leather-bound and metal bond collar. It covers the scent gland in his neck and is so tall that it forces his head up. His wrists and ankles are clasped in shackles, around him, there is snow falling and on the ground. His feet are bare. His arms are bare. He wears only a nightgown, like a bride might wear for the wedding night. His bones are visible through his skin. His left hand is swollen and clumsily splinted. Again, he has been heavily beaten. A hand stretches out to touch his chin from the side, and the hand is connected to its owner in the fifth painting.

 

It is made very clear that Steve titled the fifth painting in the series himself. It is a portrait of Adolf Hitler himself, up close and personal, hand stretched out as if to touch the viewer. The painting’s title is  _ “It is the picture of Aryan beauty.” _

 

The sixth is Bucky at the moment of the assassination; in a room mostly in shadow, he is unshaven and worn weary. His rifle pokes out of an open window, through the slats of open blinds that cast horizontal shadows across his face. His children say that it is the only painting of their father they hesitated to identify. They had never seen him look so grave.

 

The seventh and final painting in the series gives the viewer a sense of hope or even accomplishment, however. Titled  _ Home, _ it is a close-up of the embrace, presumably, Steve and Bucky shared upon reuniting after the assassination. Steve is still wearing the slip of a nightgown, that according to his own writings, was given to him by Schmidt to wear to the harbor. The remains of manacles are on his ankles and the collar is gone; instead, covering the back of his neck is Bucky’s hand, stained by gunpowder.

 

The exhibition remains in Montreal, where it can be toured for free by anyone with a valid school or military ID, and has remained unchanged since 2045. In the winter of 2045, one single painting was taken from the exhibition and shipped for display elsewhere. The painting is, according to the art world, the best example of Steven G. Barnes’s style and his best piece out of the whole exhibition. It is yet another portrait of him and his Alpha, this time, from a time when they were teenagers. Their children don’t know when or where it took place, but can only guess that it was sometime during the early 30s; Steve was perhaps fourteen or fifteen, Bucky fifteen or sixteen.

 

The portrait shows the two of them lying down on a sofa, with a window just behind them to cast bright, direct sunlight. In it, they lie almost nose-to-nose. Bucky’s eyes are open, his mouth open, and he is looking at Steve with what can only be described as wonder and adoration. Steve, by contrast, has his eyes shut, his lips just barely parted. His face, flushed pink from his cheeks down his neck, is tilted up, as if he’s breathing in Bucky. Bucky has a hand on the back of Steve’s neck, as he does in most of the art, and Steve has both of his hands curled into fists in the collar of his shirt. Bucky’s other arm rests under Steve’s head, the hand curled back to brush at his loosely falling hair. Steve never titled it, so his children did; they called it  _ Young Love. _

 

In 2045,  _ Young Love _ was re-exhibited at the Louvre in Paris. Steve and Bucky’s children all agreed, the Louvre was worth breaking up the collection.

 

The story, then, is finally put to rest. Lastly, though no one ever made the connection, on the same day that Steve and Bucky passed away in Montreal, in New York, a pre-war tenement building burned down. No one was hurt. The fire was believed to have originated in an apartment on the fifth floor. The apartment, in particular, had retained all the original furnishings since the Nazi occupation, and many said it was a shame to have lost so many antiques. The tenant of the apartment, however, disagreed. They had never felt at home amongst the original furniture. Particularly an old leather armchair, one that probably should’ve been thrown out years before the fire. In the rubble, not a stick of furniture from that apartment was recovered. However, a single scrap of leather from that armchair was found, distinguished by the peculiar scratches thought to have been the work of a child. Only that piece of leather, with the letters  _ B-U-K-Y, _ was ever found.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _that's it, that's the end. i started writing this way back either at the beginning of 2018 or the end of 2017, i don't remember, and ohmygawd, did it blow up. i hope you guys all enjoyed it as much as i did, bc this is my baby. in writing this, i actually gave myself baby-fever with all the cute kids steve and bucky got to have. also, why the everloving fuck did i decide to give them **17** kids? actually, i didn't, i told my boo [softie](https://twitter.com/softestbuck) to pick a number between 10 and 20 without giving them context and while i expected them to go low, they went high. so, 17 kids. yeah. steve didn't really need to worry about fertility._
> 
> _tell me your favorite parts throughout the whole thing, i wanna hear about what stuck out for you guys. for me, the best and most beautiful moments were, in no particular order, the first moment that steve realized **bucky** was the sniper peggy had brought out, bucky's fever/pain delirium that first made him compare steve to an angel (yeah, inspired by the actual moment in the movies where totally off his rocker bucky grins up at steve and says "stevie?"), the scene in the bathroom after steve's miscarriage, and that dance right at the end at rebecca's wedding, bucky sweet-talking steve's love handles. i mean i wrote it but that just hits ya right in the heart that's love right there, bucky is so in love with steve and adores him so much and he's so proud of every change steve's body went through with all those pregnancies (there were 3 sets of twins bc i couldn't fathom making him have 17 individual babies btw). that just speaks to me about dopey doe-eyed love right there, from childhood sweethearts to flirty geriatrics. that's steve ang bucky._
> 
> _oh, one last thing, idk if y'all believe in an afterlife, but i like to think that there's one and there's one for my fics; up in heaven when his painting gets moved to the louvre, steve just spends like ten minutes jumping up and down and shrieking incoherently while yanking on bucky's arm and bucky's wincing through all of it even though he's hella proud, “okay, okay, the louvre is a big deal, i get it, stevie, don’t make me deaf in death as well as life!” “I’M IN THE LOUVRE!!!!!!!!!!!” “i mean, technically we’re both in the louvre, pretty sure my face is what people are coming to see” “I’M IN THE MOTHERFUCKING LOUVRE!” that's what happens up there. okay, continue._

**Author's Note:**

> _follow me on[tumblr](http://moonythejedi394.tumblr.com/) or [twitter](https://twitter.com/moonythejedi394)or [reddit](https://www.reddit.com/user/moonythejedi394) bc tumblr is dying_


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